Tempting the Fates
by Ladyhawke 620
Summary: A series of events and accidents devastate Hawke and the Airwolf crew. Can they recover and survive, or will this be the end of them all? Story based ten years after Dom's death and the events of Progeny.
1. Chapter 1

Tempting the Fates -

Disclaimer - Airwolf, Hawke, Dom, Caitlin, Archangel & Marella (as well any subsequent Airwolf characters from the t.v. series, I have missed listing) all belong to Belesarius Productions and Universal. Seb, Amelia, & Nicky belong to Rachel500. All other characters are mine. I just wish I could claim the others, sigh. Until then, I'm inviting them out to play.

Introduction - Progeny is the first story in this vein. It is based on characters and the time line created by Rachel500. It takes place ten years after the events of Blackjack where Dominic died. Stringfellow Roper is Hawke's son, Ho Minh who found out about their relationship after his parents untimely deaths in rather suspicious circumstances. Hawke had had his suspicions about him being his son as referenced in the first season episode, "Daddy's Gone A Huntin'" but had been unable to confirm it, and was forced to accept Nhi Huong's decision that Sam Roper was his father. She did however rename the boy after Stringfellow, as a homage to his saving him from the Russians, and keeping her husband from risking treason charges to get their son back as well as reuniting them. Tempting the Fates takes place after Progeny.

Chapter 1 -

Rubbing bleary eyes, Saint John Hawke peered once again at the accounting software on the screen. "Okay," he sighed, "how can I be two thousand dollars off?" Once again he rifled through the crumpled pile of receipts and log books Hawke had turned in to him that morning.

"Grief, String," he muttered. "How can any one person make this kind of mess out of a month's worth of fares?" Grumbling, he smoothed a crumpled ticket trying to read his brother's nearly illegible scrawl.

A muffled clanking noise came from the hanger. Saint John paused momentarily, not looking up. "In here String!" he called. "Running kinda late aren't you? Thought you'd be back an hour ago."

There was no answer.

Saint John waited a minute, and then called again. "String?"

Silence answered, almost as if the hanger held it's breath.

Frowning, Saint John reached down into the bottom drawer of the desk for his brother's .45 he kept there. Long practiced fingers clasped around the grip and clicked the safety off as he stealthily eased out of his chair. Quietly, he sidled up to the office door, ears straining for any other noise.

There! Faint, but definitely the sound of metal bumping metal. Kinda like when you bump something you didn't know was there and catch it instinctively before it falls.

Definitely not String, he thought. Furtive steps echoed in the hanger bay, quiet but distinct.

Reaching, he slid his right hand around the door frame, fingers hunting for the light switch. Flipping it, the overhead lights glowed to life even as he stepped around the corner, gun drawn.

An empty hanger greeted him, the only occupants a battered Hughes helicopter Hawke had been working on, and the red, white and blue Santini Air jet ranger. Confusion knit his brows as he looked around, no one in sight.

A clank of a wrench hitting the floor by the jet ranger had him spinning. Even as he did, his peripheral vision caught movement beside him as a dark shape hurtled down and caught him behind the ear.

Grunting, he hit the ground hard, his hand going to his head instinctively even as his knees slammed into the concrete. The gun clattered from his grip as his vision swan before him. Foggily he looked up, his vision graying even as he did so.

"Unh, unh, unh Mr. Hawke!" the dark clad man admonished. "We can't have that." Rearing back, he slammed a steel-booted toe into Saint John's ribs.

Groaning, the blonde pilot collapsed to the ground, doubling up in pain.

The kick came again and again, thudding into his ribs, but he didn't feel them. His hand fell away from his head and dropped outstretched above him, blood-smeared and sticky, the darkness enveloping him. Oblivion reined.

* * *

Holding his breath, Stringfellow Hawke hitched a thumb in the air, hoping someone would take pity on him and pick him up. Another car flew past him, and he cursed in frustration. Great, he thought, first the jeep quit, then the cell phone was dead, now this.

Shrugging against the cooling night air, he hunched further in the battle-scarred brown leather bomber jacket he wore, and kept walking. With a huff, he kicked at a clump of dusty grass alongside the road. He sighed, he couldn't blame 'em, but the walk back to the hanger was sure looking long.

Headlights glowed in the distance, topping a rise. Half-heartedly Hawke raised a thumb and turned, walking backwards along the roadway.

Whipping past him, the truck edged over to avoid him. Hawke had already dropped his thumb and shoved his hands dejectedly in his pockets, when he saw the brake lights kick on ahead. Abruptly, the car backed in his direction and Hawke grinned breaking into a weary loping run. Maybe, he thought, his luck was changing after all.

Raising a hand in farewell, String gratefully hopped out of the truck and onto the tarmac. Easy stride carring him across the air field, he headed for the hanger.

"Saint John!" he yelled, walking through the door. "I'm back. Sorry I'm so late."

Silence greeted him, despite the lights were on overhead. Brow furrowing, he glanced around. "Hey Sinj," he called, "where are you?"

Hunting, he paced through the hanger. "Hey Sinj, you fall asleep on the job?" he taunted, heading in the direction of the office. Getting no answer, he ducked under the tail boom of the Hughes. "Hey man, where are you?"

Rising up, his eyes lit on the open office door. Clearly illuminated in the flourescent light, the desk lay overturned and papers were strewn everywhere.

"What the…?" he started, only to trail off in surprise, his eyes widening. He started towards the office glancing down as he did so.

"Saint John!" the words ripped from his throat as he scrambled across the floor, lunging on hands and knees for his brother. Frantically, he searched for a pulse hearing nothing but his own pounding heart. Sucking in a heaving breath he finally found one, his eyes pouring over his brother's bruised and battered face.

Practicality seeping in, Hawke reached for the phone, punching in numbers even as he prayed. "Hold on Sinj, help's coming," he muttered the words choking out past the lump in his throat.

Shifting his weight uneasily, Hawke watched the ambulance attendants load the stretcher with his brother's body on it into the ambulance. Fear still clutched at his chest though they'd assured him Saint John was in good hands.

Watching the ambulance lights fade in the distance, he trudged wearily back to the hanger. He'd have to lock up and call Caitlin before he followed, no matter how badly he wanted to go with his brother.

Stepping inside, he sighed. Dom would be having a cow if he could see his place like this. 'Course that wouldn't compare to his ire about whoever had jumped Saint John. Man, he wished he was here.

Picking up the radio he called out to the cabin. "Caitlin, Caitlin this is Hawke. Pick up."

The pause stretched on for a long moment and then Caitlin's voice rang back. "Santini Air, this is Cait. Come on back."

Closing his eyes in relief, Hawke pressed the button. "We've had a break in at the hanger, Cait. I don't know when I'll be back."

"Everything okay?" she asked, her tone worried.

"Saint John was here, Cait," Hawke sighed, his voice heavy.

"Oh no," she cried. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know. Whoever it was worked him over pretty good."

"Give me a few minutes, Hawke. I'll pack up the kids and we'll meet you at the hospital."

"No, Cait," Hawke replied. "I'll be okay. I'm just going to lock up here and head to the hospital. There's no need to drag the kids out and upset them."

"You sure?" she asked unhappily.

"Yeah, I'll give you a call as soon as I hear something. Hawke over." Grabbing the keys to the jeep off the desk String headed for the door.

* * *

Taking the steps to the hospital doors two at a time, Hawke hurried inside. Pulling up short, he asked at the admittance desk after his brother.

"Saint John Hawke?" the woman repeated, the name rolling unfamiliarly on her tongue.

"Yeah, an ambulance would've brought him in a few minutes ago," he forced out the words impatiently, fighting the urge to shove her out of the way and look at the records himself.

"Ah, here he is…"

"Where?" Hawke ground out impatiently.

The clerk looked up in annoyance. "Well, if you're going to create a scene about it…"

String raked a frustrated hand through his hair, muscle ticking in his jaw. Forcibly, he reined in his rising temper and aimed for contrite. "Sorry," he breathed out harshly. "I'm just worried about my brother."

Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, the clerk pinned him with her gaze.

"Please," Hawke rasped.

After a minute, she subsided, looking somewhat mollified. "Very well. Room 817, eighth floor.

"Thanks," he tossed over his shoulder, already loping for the elevators.

"Hey! No running!" she exclaimed in irritation, shaking her head in disgust.

* * *

Rocking on his heels, Hawke counted the floors and the stops to his brother's floor. Blowing out an impatient breath, he charged out the doors even as they slid open. Glancing up at the sign listing room numbers, he barreled down the hall to his right.

Almost instantly, he plowed into someone so hard he rocked back on his feet. "Sorry," he apologized, grabbing for the handrail on the wall. He glanced at the other man contritely.

Blue eyes widened in surprise. "Michael!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion. "How did you know?"

Archangel straightened his tie, tugging his vest into place as he looked at Hawke. "Know what?" he asked quirking an eyebrow.

"That Saint John was here," Hawke answered, the certainty striking him even as he said it, that his brother wasn't the reason for Michael's visit.

"Saint John's here?" Michael asked in surprise. "Why?"

"Robbery at the hanger," Hawke responded trailing off. "Why are you here, Michael?" he asked frowning.

"Marella took a tumble down the stairs at Red Star," he said looking away.

"She okay?" String asked, concern in his voice.

"Don't know yet," he replied, tapping his cane absently on the floor. He sighed, not meeting Hawke's eyes. "She hasn't regained consciousness yet."

String shifted uncomfortably. "Musta been a pretty bad fall."

"Couple of flights. She's banged up pretty good. Broke her wrist, possible concussion."

"Sorry, Michael," Hawke murmured not knowing what else to say. "anything I can do?"

"Damn shoes," Michael snarled abruptly, thumping his cane angrily on the floor.

Hawke raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"That woman and those ridiculous heels of hers. What was she thinking trailing up and down all those stairs in those things? Just asking to break her fool neck. Limping angrily, he paced the hall in front of Hawke.

Hawke let him vent for a moment and then cut in. "Was it an accident?"

"Of course it…" Archangel paused, suddenly thinking. The silence drew out for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally stated, blowing out an exasperated breath. "No sign of anyone else who didn't belong." He raised a sharp, blue-eyed gaze to meet Hawke's level one. "Why?"

"I just wondered what with Saint John and the hanger," String answered.

Remembering the other's problem, Michael winced in remorse. "Your brother okay?"

The ambulance guys seemed to think he'd be," he replied quietly. "The hanger was a pretty big mess."

"They get anything?" Michael asked, falling into step beside Hawke as he continued towards his brother's room.

"Not really, least that I could tell," Hawke replied. "Cash box is gone - maybe a few hundred dollars there. Caitlin went by the bank when she left yesterday afternoon. I didn't spend a lot of time looking."

Archangel nodded in understanding.

Pausing, they reached saint John's door. "I'll wait for you," Michael said quietly, lowering himself into one of the chairs in the hallway. Hawke nodded absently, oblivious to the other's sympathetic gaze. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway into his brother's room.

Pale green walls greeted him, accenting the pallor of the man lying in the bed. Livid bruises stood out starkly against the pale skin. "Geesh," String swallowed, stepping slowly towards his brother and pulling up a chair. "They really worked you over, Sinj."

Reaching over, he placed his hand on his brother's arm. Remorse and regret lay heavy on him as he watched over Saint John. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I should've been there Sinj."

"So you could get your butt kicked, too?" Saint John croaked, peering blearily at Stringfellow.

"You're awake," Hawke blurted in surprise.

"Yeah," Saint John replied dryly, reaching weakly for the pitcher of water.

Realizing what he was wanting, String hurried to pour him a glass. Holding it for him, he watched his brother take a sip or two before leaning back tiredly on the pillows. He closed his eyes and rested, breathing hard for a minute.

"You know," he said after a moment, "it wouldn't have made a bit of difference if you'd been there, String. Except maybe, you'd be lying here too."

"I should have had your back," String replied quietly.

"Maybe," Saint John allowed. "Maybe not. So where were you anyway?"

"Had a flat, had to hitch a ride back to the field."

Saint John nodded, closing his eyes. "Go home String," he sighed. "I'll be fine. I promise."

Feeling like he'd been dismissed, Hawke just sat there, a stunned expression on his face.

After a minute, Saint John cracked an eyelid looking at him. "You're still here? We're good, String. You can't control everything, I know that. I wish you did."

"But…"

"Cait'll be worried. I'm tired, and I just want some sleep. Come see me in the morning," with that he closed his eyes again.

Silence reined. Hawke shifted uneasily in his chair. Finally, putting his hands on the chair arms he pushed up. He stood there in the middle of the room feeling at loose ends for a long moment before he turned towards the door.

His hand was on the knob to go, when Saint John spoke quietly. "Love you, String. I'm glad you came."

Hawke looked back at his brother. "Love you too," he replied his voice gruff. He stood there silently for a second and then stepped through the door.

Seeing him, Michael rose stiffly to his feet. "He okay?" he asked, eyeing String with concern.

"Yeah," String replied certainty seeping through his soul. "Yeah, he's okay, Michael."

Together the two men walked slowly down the hall.

"Any news on Marella?" Hawke asked.

"No," Michael said quietly. "None."

"You're staying," Hawke said. It wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact.

Michael nodded, not speaking.

"You want company?"

Surprised, he shot a glance at Hawke. The younger pilot's distaste for hospitals was legend. "No," he said somberly. "I'm fine, it just wouldn't seem right to leave her."

Hawke nodded in acknowledgement, keeping pace with the other.

"Here's your ride," Archangel grinned wryly at him, stopping at the elevator.

"See you, Michael," Hawke replied. "Call me if you need anything."

The spy nodded and turned to go. The heavy steel doors started to close. "Hawke!" Michael called out.

A tanned hand caught the doors in mid-slide. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," Archangel said, a world of appreciation in the one word.

Hawke grinned and let go of the doors. Even as they slid shut, he threw up a hand in farewell.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-

"I don't care what you say," Archangel bit out angrily, his hands slamming the conference table as he pushed out of his chair. "Seb Hawke is not a traitor!"

The impeccably dressed committee head looked down his nose at Michael. "Quite frankly," he began arrogantly, " your partnership with Stringfellow Hawke impairs your judgement, Archangel. One might even say it causes one to question your loyalties."

Lauren, Michael's aide frowned, biting her tongue in anger.

Beside her, Michael's response was explosive. "For more than twenty-five years I have worked for this agency, giving my time and my blood. How dare you question my loyalty!"

"Sit down, Archangel!" the committee head barked. "And shut up, or I'll have you removed!"

Worriedly, Lauren placed a calming hand on Archangel's arm, but even as she did so he sullenly dropped into his chair.

"Now that we have that resolved," Thor continued coldly, "let's get back to the issue of Sebastian Hawke. As I was saying, there are missing data files pertaining to the new Airwolf project. To the best of my knowledge there are only two passcodes to access that information outside of the committee. Is that true, Michael?"

"Yes," he replied resentment dripping from his words.

"And who are those passcodes?"

"Sebastian Hawke and Marella Coldsmith-Briggs."

"And considering Mrs. Briggs is currently in the hospital in a coma, it seems unlikely she is the culprit does it not?"

"Yes," Michael said. "But we don't know when the information was taken…"

"Passcodes show timed access, do they not?" Thor bit out impatiently.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean…"

"And the theft occurred when?" Thor cut him off.

"20:00 hours."

"Marella's accident?"

"Around 18:30 as far as we can tell."

"Difficult for her to fall down the stairs and steal top secret info while on the way to the hospital, don't you think?" Thor commented sardonically.

"Yes sir, but…"

"Was Seb there?"

"Yes sir."

"When?"

"From around 13:00 to 21:00 hours," Michael answered sullenly.

"Well then, there you have it," sneered the committee head. "More than enough time to accomplish the theft and for that matter to have pushed Marella down the stairs, while getting the information out of the building or to another party."

"You have no proof," Michael argued.

"He's the only one with a passcode. He has the means, and he was certainly on site," Thor snarled. "It's done. Tell security to bring him in - immediately!"

"What about the committee?" Archangel demanded, angrily rising to his feet. "They have access to that information."

Thor turned cold, dead grey eyes on him. "I hope you're not suggesting what it sounds like," he said, ice dripping off his words.

"I'm suggesting exactly what it sounds like," Archangel ground out, throwing down the gauntlet. "Everyone of you have the clearance and the access that Hawke has, and it sure wouldn't be the first time we ever had a mole in the committee." Defiance blazed in his face.

Lauren simply ducked back, trying to avoid the line of fire.

Thor stared at Michael coldly. "Fine," he said his eyes glittering. He reached across the polished cherry table in front of him, thick finger hitting the intercom button. "Kathryn, please have security escort Mr. Briggs out. He's been suspended."

"You can't do that!" Archangel retorted furious.

"I just did," Thor said with a feral smile. He hit the intercom button again. "Oh, and Kathryn…"

"Yes, sir?" her voice came across the line.

"I need his division frozen as well until we resolve the Hawke matter."

* * *

Sitting in his brother's room, Hawke dozed wearily book in hand. He'd been up since 4 a.m., getting the flight plans ready for the day's aerial shoot, and hunting for a pilot to help cover the afternoon charters.

Taking pity on him, Caitlin had volunteered to go get the kids from school so he could visit with Saint John.

Shifting restlessly, Saint John pushed up against the pillows. His taped ribs were killing him, but he'd had about enough of hospital life, and he figured String wouldn't be able to keep up this pace for long.

A short rap sounded at the door. String dozed on. Rolling his eyes, Saint John called, "Come!"

"Saint John," Michael greeted him warmly, striding in cane in hand. "You're looking better."

"Yeah, feeling better," Saint John rejoined.

"Glad to hear it," Michael responded absently. "How long's he been out?" he said nodding at Hawke.

" 'Bout half an hour," Saint John replied frowning. "What's up, Michael? This isn't a social call."

"No, it's not," Archangel said with a sigh. "We need to talk."

Hearing the murmur of voices, Hawke jolted awake, abruptly on the alert. Shoving up in the chair, he eyed Michael and Saint John warily.

"Ah look, sleeping beauty graces us with his presence," Saint John teased looking over at his brother.

"Marella okay?" Hawke asked worriedly, rising to his feet.

Shrugging, Michael looked away. "Yeah, under the circumstances, I guess."

"Still not awake?" Hawke said frowning.

"No," Michael said his gaze dropping as he paced restlessly. Turning, he leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm not here about Marella, Hawke."

"Alright, I'll bite," Hawke said his eyes narrowing. "Why are you here, Michael?"

Archangel stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "You might want to sit down, Hawke."

"Why does it sound like I'm not going to like this?" String said warily.

"Probably 'cause you're not," Michael said, motioning the other man to sit.

Uneasily, Hawke perched on the edge of Saint John's bed. "Okay, I'm listening," he said, crossing his arms.

"The committee has brought Seb up on charges."

"Charges?" Hawke said with a harsh laugh. "Of what, being a workaholic?"

"This is no joke, Hawke," Archangel bit out irritably. "They're talking treason and espionage."

"Espionage?!" Saint John yelped. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"Information on the Airwolf project is missing. Seb has the passcode."

"So, I'm sure does somebody else," String retorted.

"Yes," Archangel replied, pausing. "Marella."

"Who else?" Saint John demanded.

"That's it."

"There's always somebody else," Hawke retorted. "You know as well as I do, he didn't do it," he said rising to his feet blue eyes flashing.

"It's not me you have to convince, Hawke," Michael stated impatiently.

"So convince the committee."

"Not going to happen," Archangel said pausing.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to it?" Saint John asked, looking from String to Michael.

"Michael?" Hawke queried, raising an eyebrow at the white-clad spy.

"I'm out, Hawke," Michael frowned, pacing again. "Thor's suspended me."

"What?" Saint John exclaimed.

"Seb?" Hawke asked quietly.

Archangel nodded. "You might say that," he commented wryly.

"You going to be okay?"

"Yeah," the spy rejoined. "You know me, I always land on my feet.

Hawke scowled.

"Thor did say something though, that makes me wonder now."

"What's that?" Saint John questioned.

"He hinted that Seb pushed Marella down the stairs."

"Hey," Saint John flared hotly, "Seb wouldn't have done that."

"No," Archangel agreed. "But maybe someone else did. "I can't prove it, but it would've given them access to the keycode. Something no one else would be looking for."

"It would get her out of the way, and give them a perfect scapegoat," Hawke mused rubbing his chin. "Okay, I give - now what?"

"I wish I knew," Michael answered. "You'd better watch your back though - you're none too popular with Thor either. He's liable to come after you next."

Hawke shrugged, "It's been tried before."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he'll fail either."

"He's right, String," Saint John worried, looking at his brother's stubborn stance.

"Let him bring it on," Hawke said, his jaw tensing and his eyes blazing.


	3. Chapter 3

Duffel bag slung across his shoulder, Stringfellow roper strode across the asphalt runway towards Santini air. The wind ruffled light brown hair and caused him to squint in the afternoon sun. Three weeks at Fort Stuart Air force base had seemed like forever, and he was glad to be home again. It seemed hard to believe this had been home only for a few short months.

Spotting Everett and the Santini hanger up ahead, Roper picked up his pace. He threw up a hand in greeting as the mechanic turned in his direction. To his surprise, Everett merely stood there, grease rag in hand and waited.

Unease prickled his chest. Outgoing to a fault, the action didn't seem like Everett. Shifting his bag, the action didn't seem like Everett. Shifting his bag, the younger pilot loped towards the mechanic and the intractable Stearman he worked on.

"Hey, Ev!" he called grinning.

"Roper," the man returned, still looking none to excited to see him.

Confusion blossomed in the dark blue eyes. "Where is everyone?" he asked looking around at the empty hanger, sensing the air of desolation that hung about the place.

"Same place they've been the last three weeks since you left," the mechanic stated bitterly, tossing the rag on the tool chest.

Feeling more than a little lost now, Roper dropped his duffel to the ground at his feet. "I've been in Stuart, Florida for three weeks doing quals, Ev. I haven't got the slightest idea what you're talking about. How 'bout you bring me up to speed." He scowled, all vestiges of the earlier good humor gone.

"You didn't know?" Everett gaped at him, contrition evident on his features.

"Know what?" Roper demanded, patience running out.

"I'm sorry man. I didn't realize. I figured surely you must know, and when nobody heard from you…"

"Know what?" he thundered. "Just tell me what the blazes you're talking about!"

"Grab your bag," Everett said, motioning with his head. "Come on inside, and I'll fix you a drink and tell you about it." With that, he turned and headed back into the hanger.

Uneasily, he reached down to pick up the duffel bag. The words he didn't need a drink crossed his mind, and he almost said them, but something told him this one might warrant one. Restively, he followed the other man into the hanger.

* * *

Blond hair upswept into an elegant updo, Lauren looked the picture of cool confidence. In reality, she was anything but.

She'd spent the morning ducking a tail and borrowing an ex-boyfriend's car. She still shuddered to think of the explanations that was going to take if her fiancé found out. But despite the personal hassle, she owed Archangel and Marella - they'd never been anything but supportive of her, not to mention how her temper seethed at the memory of the younger Hawke being drug out in cuffs. "No, Laurie girl," she mused. "They deserve to know, whether you like it or not."

Heels clicking, she paced the tiled corridors, stopping to peer in on Marella as she had over the last couple days. Flipping quickly through the unconscious woman's chart she noted no change. Bracing her shoulders, she stepped out coolly into the hall, the downturn of her lips the only marring note of her pretty features. Surreptitiously, she slipped into Saint John Hawke's room on the same floor, closing the door behind her.

Turning from his conversation with the Hawke brothers, Michael rounded on her in surprise. "Lauren!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Not now, sir," she cut him off. "I only have a few minutes." Pale violet eyes cast uneasily around the room.

"What's wrong?" String asked, stepping towards her. Seeing the young woman's obvious distress, he seated her in the chair he'd just vacated.

"Seb's been moved," the words rushed out unbidden. "Thor has brought him up on formal charges. There's also talk of someone seeing him enter the stairwell around 18:30 hours."

String reared back, fear for his brother raising its ugly head. "How bad?" he asked.

"As bad as it gets," Lauren whispered through numb lips. "If he's convicted, they can order a firing squad for treason."

Blue eyes flew to Michael, questioning.

Grimly, he nodded.

"Damn," Hawke muttered, plunking down on the window ledge. Saint John didn't look too well either.

"There's more," Lauren murmured, summoning her courage. "There's news of a car crash near St. Elizabeth's school. The car matches the description of one registered to Caitlin Hawke."

String raised horrified blue eyes to hers, suddenly pale beneath his tan. White knuckled, he clutched the edge of the window ledge. "The kids?" he asked, desperation evident in his voice.

Saint John stumbled out of the bed to stand by his brother, feeling like his own heart was being ripped out. String looked like he might collapse on the floor.

"My sources confirm the car was headed away from the school." Lauren looked to Michael for strength. "The car rolled, Hawke and burned," she whispered.

With a low moan, Hawke pitched forward. Saint John grabbed him and hung on. "A passerby pulled Caitlin out of the car. They both suffered second degree burns. The ambulance should be on its way to the hospital now."

"The kids?" Michael asked, his own voice uneven.

"No sign of them, sir." Lauren whispered, tears sliding down her face. "The car exploded after the passerby got Caitlin out. He didn't see any, but he admits he was pretty panicked trying to get her out. It was a pretty close call for the two of them. She sustained some head trauma in the crash, so there's no way of asking her."

Michael nodded, looking worriedly at Hawke. He still looked like he might collapse in the floor any second.

"Thanks, Lauren," Michael said, going to her and helping her to her feet. "I know how hard this must've been for you to do."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, placing her hand on his sleeve and looking at Hawke. Her lip quivered.

"I know," Michael said, steeling his own resolve. "But you've got to go now, before somebody sees you. I'll take it from here."

Nodding, she swallowed gathering up her purse as she went, casting one last tearful glance at String as she went. Michael guided her to the door, his hand on her elbow.

Watching Lauren leave, Saint John merely hung onto his brother in horror. String acted like he'd been gut-punched and showed no signs of rallying. Thinking back to Bella's death, Saint John acknowledged mournfully he had been. He just wasn't sure how long he could keep them both from landing in the floor.

Closing the door behind Lauren, Michael turned and caught sight of the brothers. Hurrying, he rushed to drag Hawke to the chair before he took Saint John down with him. Exhausted, Saint John slumped to the edge of the bed beside String.

Sorrowfully, Michael looked at Saint John - worry for his brother creasing his face, and then back at Hawke in the chair. He looked as if his very soul had been ripped out. He supposed despondently, the larger portion of it had been.

Reaching for his cane, Archangel spoke, his voice a hushed undertone. "Suppose you can take care of him 'til I get back?"

Saint John raised grief-stricken hazel eyes to meet the spy's gaze. "Do what you have to do, Michael. We're not going anywhere."

* * *

Bone-weary, the older Hawke retreated to his bed. Ribs aching, he slumped against the pillows. If there'd been anything to say, he'd have said it. Unfortunately, he knew from experience there was nothing to say.

Mourning, he thought of his niece and nephew. Tears threatened to overflow as he rubbed his eyes, heaving in a shuddering breath. String's family had been his after he'd lost Bella, and then Jo. Grief like bile ate at his stomach, his throat, tasting as bitter as if the children had been his.

A keening moan like an animal in pain rent the silence. Sucking in an uneven breath Saint John turned to his brother.

"String?"

His face desolate, String fought to contain the broken sobs that threatened to tear him in two. Glittering, lost sapphire blue eyes met Saint John's hazel ones.

Saint John was on his feet in an instant, his own pain fading at his brother's devastation. He'd die to spare him this, he thought fiercely. Strong arms closed around his brother, holding him as the sobs threatened to tear him apart.

How long they sat that way, Saint John couldn't have said. Finally, there were just no more tears to fall.

Hawke's voice was raw with pain when he spoke. "How Sinj? How did you say goodbye to Bella?" He clutched at his brother's sleeve desperately. "How do I say goodbye to Nicky and Amelia?"

Saint John just shook his head mutely.

"I just can't do it," Hawke whispered, bowing his head. "I can't do it."

The door opening quietly, Michael slipped back into the room.

A worried blue eye sought Saint John's face, relief softening his features when Hawke's dark gaze met his. At least, he seemed coherent again, Archangel thought, feeling his tension ebb slightly.

"Well?" Saint John demanded impatiently. "Is Cait okay?"

"She's in ICU. Hawke, I think you'd better come."

Saint John winced. Hawke staggered to his feet like a man who couldn't take much more. Shakily, he reached one hand out to the wall, before heading for the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Taking Hawke's jeep, Roper sped towards the hospital. He'd been strongly tempted to take the jet ranger, but he hadn't been soloing that long and he wasn't sure he was up to it after as many hours on the plane as he'd pulled getting back. Better to save it for another time. Besides Ed from across the runway was set to use it a couple days for an aerial shoot and the way Ev had talked, it didn't sound like things would be resolved in a couple days.

Long, slender fingers impatiently tapped the steering wheel as the miles fell away. How could so much have happened in a couple short weeks? He wondered. Pain ate at him at the thought of losing his half-brother and sister, he couldn't even imagine what Hawke must be going through.

Swinging down the palm lined street, he careened towards the squat concrete building perched near the boulevard. Carelessly maneuvering into a nearby parking space, the pilot launched himself out of the jeep, keys in hand before it'd barely stopped idling. The thud of his boots on the concrete sidewalk almost kept time with the pounding of his heart in his ears as he sought visitors information.

Never breaking stride, the glass entrance doors slid out of his way as he angled towards visitors information. Putting on his best smile, he pulled off his sunglasses before speaking to the harried looking clerk.

"Hi. Can you tell me where I'd find a Caitlin Hawke?" he asked.

Not looking up, the blond ran a well-manicured nail down the page. "Hawke?" she inquired. "That with an e?"

"Yes," Roper struggled to keep smiling, as impatience clawed at his gut.

Coming to the name, the woman paused her eyes widening at the notes. Mascaraed lashes flew up to glance at the man in front of her. The eyes widened appreciatively, taking in the broad shoulders and drop dead cheekbones.

"Find her?" Roper asked curving the corners of his mouth up. The blue eyes sparkled back at her flirtatiously.

"Um, yes," the clerk stammered, smiling back.

"Well?" he inquired, when she trailed off.

Caught up in the moment, the blond stammered, "Room 809, but you can't go up there. It's…"

"Thanks," Roper tossed over his shoulder, the smile gone as quickly as he was - charging for the elevators.

"…restricted access," she finished to herself, no one else left to hear. She sighed. The best looking thing she'd seen in a month of Sundays, and he'd get tossed out on his ear. Didn't bode well for seeing him again. Sipping her Starbucks, she went back to boredly filing paperwork.

* * *

The doors clanging shut behind him, Roper heard the restricted access part and grimaced. Was nothing ever simple around here? Pushing the floor button, he rocked back on his heels, already going through possible scenarios to get past security.

Hitting the floor, the metal doors slid open to the clanging sound of an alarm down the hall. Nurses and techs rushed by pushing a cart paying him no mind, intent only on the light flashing outside the doorway and the patient inside.

Striding quickly past the waiting room, the brown-haired pilot was almost beyond it when recognition dawned. Slamming to a halt, he paced back doing a double-take. Yes, he thought in wonder, that was Archangel sprawled lazily across the chair in jeans - laptop in hand and rosewood cane beside him.

Ducking his head around the wood and glass partition, Roper whispered his name. "Michael!"

A single blue eye shot up, long fingers freezing on the keyboard. "Roper!" he grinned. "It is you!" Setting aside the computer, he got up to grasp the other's hand warmly. "Where've you been?"

"Quals in Florida," Roper tossed out off-handedly. "What're you doing here?"

The grin vanished from Michael's face. "Keeping watch, mostly," he said grimly.

"What do you mean?" Roper asked bemusedly.

"You don't know?" Michael asked with a frown.

"I know Cait's here. I heard about the kids from Everett at the hanger," Roper said, the light dimming in his own eyes.

"Is that all?" Michael asked in consternation.

"Isn't that enough?" he bit out angrily, confused by the question.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, more than enough." He gestured at the chair beside them. "Unfortunately, that's not all of it."

Trepidation filled the blue eyes.

"Sit down," Archangel commanded. "There's more you've got to know before you go in to see Cait and Hawke."

Lean legs encased in worn jeans plopped down in the indicated chair. In hushed tones, Michael brought him up to date, on what Everett hadn't known. Bad as the situation was, it was much worse than he could have imagined.

When he was done, Roper leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. Thoughtfully, he tapped his finger on the chair arm. "How's Hawke taking it?"

The spy frowned. "Not well, he hasn't left Cait's side in the past week. Everything else is completely off the radar as far as he is concerned. I'm not even sure he's eaten the last couple of days since Saint John left."

"Where's Saint John?" Roper asked in consternation, wondering what else he'd missed.

"He's gone to see if he can find Mike Rivers. Rivers has flown Airwolf and unless Hawke gets his act together, we're going to need him. Seb's fast running out of time."

Roper nodded. "Marella any better?"

Michael looked down, smoothed his mustache, seemed to look everywhere except at those penetrating blue eyes so like Hawke's. "No," he muttered at last, "She's not."

Sensing the well-hidden worry and fear there, the younger man clapped a sympathetic hand on the spy's shoulder. "She's strong. Keep the faith, Michael, that's all you can do."

Pushing out of the chair, Roper rose. He ran a hand through his short, sun-bleached brown hair, as he did so plastering a cocky smile on his face. "After all, I'm back. I'll see about getting it all sorted out for you," and with that he sauntered down the hall.

Gaping after him, Michael had to laugh after he picked up his jaw off the floor. "Heaven help us," he chuckled, " it's like crossing Hawke and Rivers. Now, that's a nightmare!" Feeling lighter than he had in days, he packed up his laptop to go see Marella.

* * *

Boots thudding softly on the tile floor, Roper made his way towards Caitlin's room. Casting a surreptitious glance around, he paced the length of the hall. With a growing knack, he spotted the plainclothes guard flirting with one of the nurses at the desk. His lips quirked hopefully, maybe this really was going to be that easy.

Pausing at the door, Roper drew a deep breath before pushing his way in. Letting the door fall closed behind him, he eyed the pale woman in bed, only her copper-hued hair adding any color to the picture. The bandages on her hands and arms were discomfiting at best, as were the snaking tubes and I.V.'s.

Hawke slumped in the chair beside the bed, his head pillowed on his arm. He looked older, he thought, not nearly as dangerous as when they had first met. Quietly, he stepped across the floor making the barest of noises.

Hawke startled awake, feet slamming to the floor as he rose in a defensive stance in front of Cait.

"Hey, it's me!" Roper exclaimed, throwing up his hands and backing off, recoiling. Maybe there was some hope here, he thought, assuming he didn't get himself killed first.

Recognizing him Hawke slumped to the edge of the bed, the battle light dimming in his eyes as quickly as it'd come. "You're back."

That's it? Roper thought. No greeting, no welcome - just a statement of fact.

"You might want to re-consider that," Hawke muttered. "Things seem to be going to hell in a hand basket around here." Bitterness and defeat seemed to seep out of the words.

"I'm sorry, String," Roper said shifting awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Temper flared briefly in the dark, blue eyes before flickering out. "Yeah, so am I."

The silence stretched heavy and smothering between them. Pacing, Roper shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "Want me to stay with her?" he asked finally.

"Huh?" Hawke queried raising his head, obviously lost in his own thoughts.

"I said, I'd stay with Cait if you want a break. Go get something to eat, walk around, you know what I mean…"

"No."

"I don't mind, String," Roper tried again.

"Thanks, but no," the stubbornness seemed to be re-asserting itself.

Roper's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Come on Hawke, I know you must need a break. Go down to the cafeteria, get a cup of coffee, or better yet - go home and get a couple hours sleep."

"I said, no." The tone brooked no argument this time.

Inwardly, Roper crowed. It was anger and he'd probably get his butt kicked for his efforts, but at least Hawke was showing some signs of fight. Anything was better that the utter hopelessness he'd witnessed before. "Come on, Hawke," he wheedled taking the other man's arm and trying to usher him to the door.

The reaction was instantaneous. String snatched his arm out of the younger man's grip, very nearly snarling as he did so. "I said no, and I meant it!"

"And I said, you need a break," the younger man flared, facing him down nearly nose to nose. "Now go take one, before I have to break your arm to get my point across!"

String swung a hard right even as Roper ducked. The second one didn't miss, getting inside the younger man's block. Slamming to the floor, Hawke's weight on top of him, he realized he'd better get serious about this fight or he was going to get the crap beat out of him.

Twisting his hips, he threw an open palm into the inside of Hawke's elbow. Left hand fisted in Roper's sweater, Hawke didn't let go. Rolling the younger man threw him off.

The iv stand clattered to the floor. Roper threw his hands over his head, ducking as it missed his head by inches. Launching himself from the floor, he slammed shoulder first into Hawke.

This time he ended up on top, a tenuous position at best he realized the other man struggling beneath him, twenty years advantage pretty much evened out by more fights than he could count. Gasping, he levered an arm bar across Hawke's throat knowing he had to finish the fight.

Pinioned beneath him, Hawke worked an arm free and flung a fist at him. Roper hung on, leaning heavier on Hawke's throat. Gasping for air now, he tried to break loose, bucking to knock the younger man off.

"Give," Roper panted, breath rasping painfully through burning lungs.

Hawke fought harder.

"Dammit Hawke, give!"

"No," he rasped, his lip bleeding.

"Please," Roper begged his own chest heaving frantically, and beginning to think this wasn't such a hot idea after all.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the fight was over. Hawke rolled Roper off - hard. Working to get his arms under him, he pushed to his feet. Panting, he rested his hands on his knees still trying to suck in a full breath, vision gray around the edges. "You win."

Sprawled on his back on the tile, Roper stared up at him in astonishment before raising a fist in victory. "Whoo - hoo," he gasped.

Staggering, Hawke laughed, feeling as if he could breath for the first time in weeks. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Yeah," Roper huffed. "I get it from my father."

String chuckled, reaching down to help Roper up. Grabbing his hand, he hauled him up, slapping him on the back.

Roper reached to straighten the iv stand. Setting it back, he noticed the stricken look on his father's face. "I won," he stated.

"Huh?" the other man asked in confusion.

"I won. You said so yourself."

"Yeah?" Hawke asked warily, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

"You are going to take a break. Go home, get some sleep, a shower, some decent coffee…"

"Roper, I can't go," Hawke said regretfully.

"Yeah, you can and you will. I'll stay with her, or get Michael to, but you're no good to anyone if you drive yourself to the point of collapse. Least of all Cait."

Hawke cast a worried glance at his wife's still form in the bed, and ran a tired hand through his hair. "But…"

"Are we going to have to go through all this again?" Roper demanded, gesturing at the room.

Hawke sighed. "No, I said you won…"

Roper walked up to his father, laid his hand on his arm. "I'm not saying you can't come back, Hawke. Just that you need some down time. I'll take good care of her, or I'm sure Michael would be more than happy to come and sit with her for a while."

Taking in the sincerity in the sky blue eyes, String nodded. "Okay, fine. I'll go." Stiffly he paced over to where his leather bomber jacket lay on a chair in the corner.

He reached down to pick it up. A thought crossed his mind as he did so. "Michael's still here?" he asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Roper replied, quirking an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Marella's still here?"

"No better," Roper replied, matter of factly. "That and he said something about watching everyone's backs."

"Watching everyone's backs?…" Hawke trailed off, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. He spun on his heel. "Whatever happened with Seb?" he demanded.

Roper threw his shoulders back. This was the Hawke he was more familiar with, the soldier, the warrior. Bluntly, he met his gaze. "The committee arrested him. He's up on charges of treason and espionage."

"And Michael's here?" String bit out in disbelief.

"Yes," Roper drawled, having no idea where this was going.

"How long?"

"Two weeks."

"Ah hell," Hawke spit out. "They didn't suspend him. He got canned, didn't he?"

"How'd…, how'd you know?" Roper stuttered.

"Because if he's here and Seb's in that kinda trouble, he'd have to be." Hurriedly, he shoved his arms into the jacket sleeves. "He say anything else?"

"Just something about 'keeping watch'. Why?"

"Because obviously it's time I got my head out of the sand, and into the game." Zipping the jacket, String picked up one of Caitlin's limp hands and tangled his fingers with hers as he leaned over to kiss her gently on the cheek. "I'll be back soon, sweetheart," he whispered. "Michael will keep you safe 'til I get back." Smoothing the coppery hair away from the fading bruises, he straightened.

"Come on," he said, motioning with his head towards the door. "You're with me." Snatching the door open, he strode out.


	5. Chapter 5

Walking out of Marella's room, Archangel heard the crash. Instantly on alert, he reached inside his jacket for his gun even as he stealthily made his way towards Caitlin's door. Pausing, he hesitated outside, his ears straining for some sign.

Abruptly, the door swung open. Fingers tightening around the butt of the gun in his hand, Michael stared in stunned disbelief as Hawke and Roper strode out - Hawke determinedly in the lead. Was his lip bleeding? he wondered, thinking he must be seeing things. Confusion furrowed his brow as he looked at the two of them.

Almost instantly, Hawke spotted him. He narrowed icy blue eyes on the spy as he stepped towards him. "Michael," he greeted the other man in even tones as he drew even with him.

It was blood, Michael thought in wonder. What the heck had been going on in there? He dug in his jacket pocket for a linen handkerchief.

"Hawke," he greeted him, his fingers closing around the square of material. "Glad to see you've decided to rejoin the land of the living." He handed him the handkerchief before shaking his hand, and clasping his other shoulder.

Taking it, the pilot looked a little bemused. Archangel gestured towards his lip. Startled, and having the grace to look a little embarrassed, he daubed at it lightly his gaze dropping to the floor, a faint flush across his cheekbones.

What had been going on in there?

Hawke pocketed the handkerchief acknowledging the other's comment about rejoining the land of the living. He cut straight to the point. "Saint John go to get Mike?"

Surprised, Michael's gaze flew to Roper's face. He shook his head, signaling he hadn't told Hawke. Archangel looked back at Hawke. "Yes. How'd you know?"

"He's not here. Rivers would've been the logical choice."

Bemused, the spy wondered at the jump in logic, but he had to admit he was right - as usual.

Shifting, Hawke's gaze dropped to the tile floor at his feet for a moment. "I need a favor, Michael." he said his voice deep.

"Of course," the spy responded. "Name it."

"Watch over Caitlin 'til I get back." The words were even, but the eyes were dark, deadly as he said it.

Michael nodded somberly. "You know I will."

"Yeah, I know," the words were spoken with quiet confidence. String turned towards the elevators, leaving Michael there. Roper hurried to catch up.

"Where are you going?" Michael called out.

Hawke turned and spoke, his lips curling slightly. "To get my head back in the game," and with that he rounded the corner to the elevators and was gone.

* * *

"Nicky, I'm tired," eight year old Amelia whined. "My feet hurt too. Why didn't mommie come to get us?"

Ten year old Nicky rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I told you, I don't know, Amelia. I tried calling her, but she doesn't answer."

"Can't you call daddy at the hanger?" she whimpered, rubbing a dirt-streaked cheek.

Tiredly, the boy shifted his backpack from one thin shoulder to the other, the weight making his shoulders cramp. "I tried 'Melia. Nobody answers there either."

For a long moment, the girl was silent the only sound a bird chirping in the brush beside the road. A dirty, pink tennis shoe kicked a rock out of the path. "Do you think they forgot us, Nicky?"

Her brother looked up, dark blue eyes concerned. "No, 'Melia. They wouldn't forget us." He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. Surely, their mom and dad would come for them, right? he thought.

"Why couldn't we just stay with Sister Sarah at school?"

"You know why, 'Melia," Nicky snapped, swiping at the sweat that ran in his eyes and stung. "Daddy says if they ever don't come get to us, we're to go to the hanger and wait."

Sucking on her lip, Amelia considered his words for a minute. Her backpack was dragging in the dirt now. "You think the bad men got mommie, Nicky." It was a statement, not a question.

"Nah," the boy disputed quickly.

His sister glared at him. "Do too," she contradicted, pursing her lips. "I'm not a baby, you know."

He looked up, grinning at the dirty, tear-streaked cheeks. "Right…" he drawled.

Scowling, Amelia swung the backpack and hit him in the shin.

"Ow!" he yelped. "What'd you do that for?"

Angry blue eyes squinted back at him. "You do think the bad men took mommie. You just think I'm too big a baby to tell me." She balled up a small fist like she'd like to hit him again.

"Alright!" Nicky yelled. "I don't know where they are and yes, maybe the bad men took them. I don't know Amelia! I'm just a kid too!"

Blue eyes filled with tears and her lower lip quivered before her face crumpled. Dropping her backpack in the dirt, she cried big, hiccupping sobs.

Apalled, Nicky grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry 'Melia! I didn't mean to yell." Hugging her, he held her as she continued to sniffle.

Eventually the sniffles stopped and she pulled loose, plopping down on her backpack in the dirt. Nicky dropped down beside her.

"They aren't coming to get us, are they Nicky?" she asked forlornly.

He sighed, frowning. "I don't think so."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I guess just keep going 'til we get to the hanger and go from there."

The little girl was silent for a long minute. "Do you think the bad men will get us too?" she asked finally, nudging her toe in the dirt.

Nicky scowled, determination showing in his blue eyes. "No, 'Melia, 'cause I'm not going to let 'em. Now come on," he said, offering her his hand. "We've got to get going if we're going to get to the hanger before it gets dark."

* * *

Arriving back at the hanger, Hawke braked the jeep to a halt. Swinging out of it he strode for the hanger and the office inside, Roper on his heels.

Walking in, he noticed the battered Hughes still waited. The Stearman sat beside it. The red, white and blue jet ranger was nowhere in sight. He paused and looked around.

"Everett say where the ranger is?" he said looking at Roper.

"He said something about loaning it to Ed for an aerial shoot."

Hawke nodded, vaguely remembering the conversation with Ed a few weeks prior. "Right," he muttered. Silent steps carried him into the office.

"Ed come into the office for something?" Hawke asked, over his shoulder.

"No, not that I can think of," Roper replied, walking into the small room. "Why?"

"I don't know," Hawke murmured, "it just seems different somehow. Like something's off and I just can't put my finger on it."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Well, it's been three weeks String, and Everett's been running the place. I'm sure not everything is exactly as you left it."

String sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'm sure it's nothing." He sat down at the desk. "Still…"

After a moment, he shrugged, sitting down. Reaching down into the bottom drawer, he pulled out his .45 and shoved it into his waistband.

Roper tilted his head at him, raising an eyebrow. "Expecting trouble?" he asked.

"No," Hawke replied, looking up at him with sharp blue eyes. "I just believe in being prepared."

Satisfied, the other nodded. "You want me to come out to the cabin with you?"

"No," String answered. "I can't really imagine there being any problems out there. If you wanna help, I'm sure Everett could use a hand here and we're going to need to get together some supplies to get the Lady and Seb. Give Saint John a call, would you?"

"Sure," the younger pilot replied, amiably enough.

String picked up the extra clip from the desk and dropped it into his jacket pocket. "I'll probably be a couple hours or so at least by the time I fly out there. Make yourself at home."

Roper grinned. "You know me. If you're not careful, I'll move right in."

"Well, at least that means I wouldn't be sleeping on a cot up here," String retorted with rare humor.

Roper narrowed his eyes at him. "Ha, ha, very funny," he retorted.

"I thought so," String replied heading for the door. In it, he paused. "You got the Beretta on you?"

"Yeah," Roper replied, his eyes flying to String's face. "Why? I thought you said you didn't expect any trouble."

"I don't," Hawke returned, "but I've had enough of that damn hospital lately. Watch your back." And with that, he turned and was gone.

* * *

Headset on, rotors picking up speed Hawke grasped the cyclic and eased up on it, lifting the second jet ranger into the air. Flying the jet ranger was nothing like flying the Lady, but it still had it's own way of making your problems distant. He'd missed this the last few weeks, and much as he hated to admit it - Roper was right. He had needed a break.

The minutes slipped away as he traversed the flight path to the cabin. Efficiently and with well-practiced ease, he skirted the restricted air zone near the base without much thought.

Swinging around the mountain, he headed the helicopter in the direction of the cabin and the dock. To his surprise, another helicopter already sat there. "Well," he muttered, "it seems we have company. Funny, I don't remember inviting anyone."

Frowning, he nudged the stick to the left pointing the jet ranger towards the clearing and away from the cabin. Flaring abruptly, the helicopter settled to earth, rotors slowing even as he radioed back to Roper.

"Santini Air, Santini Air do you read?"

After a minute of waiting, Roper's voice broke in breathless. "This is Santini Air, come back Hawke."

"I've got company here at the cabin. Were you expecting somebody?" Hawke asked.

"No," Roper replied quickly. "You recognize them?"

"No," Hawke bit out. "I just thought I'd check before I went throwing a welcome party."

"You want back-up?" Roper asked. "It'd take me a little while to get there, but…"

"Nah. Just let the Lady know in case I'm late."

The pause on the other end was telling. Obviously, Roper was unhappy about String going off on his own. Unfortunately, their options were limited at the moment though. "Will do," he said tersely. "Watch your step.'

"Always," Hawke replied. "Over." He clicked the radio off. Drawing his gun, he slid out of the cockpit. Landing softly on the pine-needle strewn path, he quietly made his way down the hill towards the cabin taking a pair of binoculars with him.

A hundred yards up he stopped, crouching in the underbrush. Lifting the binoculars, he searched the outside of the cabin for more idea as to who his uninvited guests were and what they wanted. Unfortunately, they weren't talking.

Huffing in irritation, Hawke dropped the binoculars and headed stealthily up the path. Careful not to step on any small branches, he made his way cautiously to the woodpile at the corner of the house. There, he slipped in next to it, hidden amongst the afternoon shadows.

Crouching, he made his way under the windows across the porch, gun in hand. Sidling up to the door, Hawke waited drawing a deep breath as he prepared to make the dive in.

* * *

"Nicky, I hear something," Amelia whispered, frantically clutching her brother's arm as she crouched behind the breakfast bar in the kitchen. "Do you think the bad men are back?"

Shoving the box of cereal back in the pantry, ten year old Nicky dropped down beside her. Uneasily, he remembered the previous weeks visit where he and Amelia had barely made it out the back door when some strange men had come poking around the cabin.

Straining his ears, he listened. "That's a helicopter," he affirmed. "Sounds kinda like the jet ranger."

Amelia squealed, running to the window. "You think it's daddy?" she exclaimed her voice excited. "Do you think he's finally come?"

"Wait, Amelia!" he cried, grabbing for her as she ran past him and missing.

She slid to a halt, looking out at the dock, only to nearly fall in her haste to get away. "They're back, Nicky!" she cried her blue eyes wide with fear. "They're back!"

Grabbing her hand, Nicky snatched her behind the bar, even as he heard the scrape of footsteps on the porch outside. There'd be no making it out the back door this time, he thought in desperation. Shoving his sister up against the cabinet he looked frantically for some way out.

The door handle turned, clicking open. Heavy steps echoed across the wood planking floor. "Someone's been here, Marshall," a deep voice commented, safety clicking off a gun as he did so.

Another voice grated behind him. "So? They're not here now, Daniels and even if they were, I'd be more than happy to take care of the problem."

Beside him, Nicky felt Amelia tremble. He didn't have to look to see the fear in her eyes. He shook his head at her silently, warning her to be quiet.

Heavy steps echoed across the floor, followed by a crash. Amelia cringed, burying her head in her arms. The thud of books hitting the floor followed. It was only a matter of time before they got caught.

Fear beating at his throat, the boy frantically searched for some escape, some way of protecting his sister. Glancing around him, he spotted the bottle of vodka by his hand - and then he knew. Reaching over, he picked it up silently, handing it to Amelia motioning her to be quiet. She took it and the next bottle as well.

Around them the crashing got louder as the men swept pictures off the mantle, glass shattering as it hit the stone hearth below.

Sliding his hand to the back of the shelf, he dragged out a cigar box from the back. Amelia's eyes widened. "We're not supposed to touch that," she hissed.

Nicky glared at her. "Do you have any better ideas?"

She shook her head, curls flying.

Opening the lid, he slid his fingers around the butt of the gun. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight in his hand and clicked off the thumb safety. Wrapping his left hand around the first, he waited with his finger on the trigger. Hands sweating, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The bookcase crashed to the floor, and Amelia whimpered. Nicky's eyes flew open as she did so. "Shhh- hh," he whispered.

"Hey, what was that?" Daniels demanded.

"What was what?" the other snarled.

"The noise," Daniels said. Reaching in his jacket, he pulled out a nickel coated 9mm. "Take a look around, Marshall," he ordered, gesturing with his gun.

Amelia stared at Nicky with both clamped over her mouth. "Where are they?" he whispered to her, not hearing the men any more.

She shrugged, her eyes huge.

"Well, look," he said impatiently.

Carefully, she leaned around the corner inch by inch on her hands and knees, poking her head out. Edging around the bar, she spied the man the same instant he saw her.

Grinning he pointed the gun in her direction. "Hey Daniels," he crowed, "I found our company. You're not going to believe this!"

Amelia snatched her head back, almost falling over in the process. "They saw me Nicky!" she cried.

Knowing he was out of options, the boy scrambled to his feet levering the gun over the bar as he did so. Aiming desperately he squeezed off a shot, the recoil slamming into his hands as he did so.

Marshall dove for cover. Kneeling behind the sofa, he returned fire. Daniels upended the coffee table, doing the same.

Nicky let loose another shot, ducking and squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. Amelia sobbed hysterically against his leg.

* * *

Poised outside the door gun in hand, Hawke was reaching for the door handle when a bullet thwacked into the door facing near his head. "What the hell??" Hawke cursed, flinging himself back up against the wall. Slamming a well-placed boot into the door, he crashed through it and into the cabin, rolling as he hit the floor. Coming up beside the sofa, he raised the .45. Taking aim as he did so, he caught movement over by the bar and swung towards it, finger tightening on the trigger as he did so.

Tousled reddish-brown hair and a gun barrel greeted him. In shock, his hand jerked and the shot went wide. "Nicky?" he breathed in frozen astonishment.

In the next instant, a bullet slammed into the table beside him. Awareness rushed in and he ducked, before raising his gun to return fire at the man nearest him. This time he didn't miss, his bullet slamming into Daniel's chest. He hit the ground, a spreading red stain mushrooming across his shirt.

Marshall lunged for the bar, shoving aside Nicky as he did so. Hawke fired off another shot, missing as the man slid across the bar and Nicky hit the floor. He came up dangling a screaming and kicking Amelia, gun to her head.

"Drop it!" he yelled at Hawke. "Drop it or I'll shoot her now!"

Left without much choice, Hawke dropped the gun from numb fingers raising his hands. Nicky had no such compunction, lashing out kicking at the Marshall's knees from where he lay on the floor. Growling, the man hung on to Amelia while he turned the gun in the boy's direction.

Desperately Hawke dove across the floor grabbing for the gun. He rolled to his back aiming for a clear shot. Screaming and thrashing, Amelia got in his way.

"Let the girl go!" he yelled.

Marshall swung his gun away from Nicky towards Hawke. Amelia twisted around in his grasp and bit him across the arm. Yelping, he dropped her to the floor as he aimed for Hawke on the floor in front of him.

Two more shots rang out. The first caught String across the ribs, the searing bite of metal tearing through flesh as it did so. The second neatly caught Marshall in the back. String taking his opportunity, slammed another shot home catching him full in the chest and dropping him where he stood.

Clamping his hand to his side, String rolled to his knees, the gun still in his hand. "Nicky! Amelia!" he panted, "Where are you?"

A wide tearful pair of sapphire blue eyes peered around the bar, topped with snarled reddish curls. They were followed by a more somber pair, half covered in tousled brown fringe.

Overwhelmed, his chest aching and his heart feeling like it'd burst, String thought it was the best thing he'd ever seen. He simply stared, trying to take it in.

Squealing, Amelia moved first. "Daddy! Daddy!" she cried, launching herself full tilt into his arms, Nicky right behind her. They slammed into him, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs as they did so. Hawke didn't even notice.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting in the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, broken and overturned furniture and his kids Stringfellow Hawke couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. Amelia hanging around his neck and Nicky beside him, he still couldn't believe he was so blessed. Absently he reached out a hand to smooth his daughter's hair and to remind himself that yes, they were really and truly there alive and well.

"So you've been here the whole time?" he whispered in wonder. "But how?"

Taking over the story telling, Nicky brought him up to date. "Mr. Johnson from across the air field brought us home."

"Ed?" String asked in confusion, " but why?"

"We asked him," 'Melia chirped happily, butting in. "We walked and walked and I was sooo-oo tired." Here the eyelashes fluttered dramatically and he had to stifle a laugh. "But when we got to the hanger, no one was there. We waited forever." The little hands spread, emphasizing her point.

Nicky looked at this dad with worried eyes. "I tried calling mom. And I tried calling you, but nobody ever picked up."

Contritely Hawke thought of the dead cell phone - long since forgotten in recent events, and probably still in the jeep from the night Saint John was attacked.

"You said, if anything ever happened and we couldn't get a hold of you, to go to the hanger," he continued.

Hawke nodded.

"Well, we did," Nicky said uneasily, "but nobody ever came." So, finally we went and asked Mr. Johnson if he'd take us home."

"And he did!" Amelia announced triumphantly, twirling around in a pirouette.

"So he did," Hawke muttered in wonder.

Shifting awkwardly, a tongue of pain blazed up his side. Paling, Hawke pressed his hand to his ribs.

Nicky watched with concerned eyes. "You okay, dad?" he asked with a frown.

Catching the worry in his son's gaze, String schooled his features into impassitivity. "Sure," he lied. "Hey Amelia?" he called.

"Yes, daddy?" She stopped her twirling.

"Can you go upstairs and get me the first aid kit? Daddy has a boo-boo he needs a band-aid for."

"Sure, Daddy!" she sung out enthusiastically, racing up the stairs.

Nicky's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry, dad," he whispered, his face downcast.

"For what?" Hawke asked his eyes puzzled as he took his son's hand.

Nicky swallowed hard. Man, he didn't want his dad to hate him, he thought, but knowing he'd done it and not telling him was killing him. "I was the one who shot you, not the bad man." His lower lip trembled. "I know we're not supposed to touch your gun, but I didn't know what else to do. I'm really, really sorry!" he wailed.

Shaking his head, Hawke pulled his young son down next to him. Holding him close, he stroked his hair soothing the sobs that racked the slender frame. "Shh-hh," he whispered. "You did great, Nicky. You were amazingly brave and I'm so proud of you. I could never be mad at you."

"Really?" the boy asked, through hiccupping sobs.

"Really," Hawke smiled. "You took good care of your sister, and you did the best you could. That's all I could ask." He released the boy, who rocked back on his heels wiping his cheeks in embarrassment.

Stomping steps echoed down the stairs, as Amelia returned. "I got the band-aids, Daddy!" she sang.

Hawke chuckled, looking at his kids. Reaching up he took the first aid kit from her and tore off a piece of tape with his teeth while Nicky handed him a wad of gauze. Taping it in place, Hawke took a second look at his son from beneath his lashes. The boy frowned in concentration handing him supplies.

He shook his head in wonder.

"I do have a second request though," he said.

Nicky looked up at his dad. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Maybe we could work on your aim a little?" the blue eyes glinted teasingly.

"Yeah, maybe," the boy returned, ducking his head with a grin. "Maybe."

* * *

Skimming over the uneven terrain, Saint John flew past the small town of Dead Horse Falls. Almost there, he told himself stretching wearily. Two hours in the air hadn't seemed like a big thing when he'd started out, but after the aches and pains of the past couple weeks he was beginning to think differently. A couple of cracked ribs certainly hadn't helped. "You're just getting too old for this Sinj, my boy," he muttered. Setting the Hughes down with a thud, he was beginning to believe it. Feeling more weary than he could ever remember, he slumped down to wait for Mike.

Shoving his cap down over his eyes, he let his thoughts drift as he waited. He still couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be taken down so easily at the hanger. Just as well String hadn't been there to see it, he thought in disgust.

String…he worried about him. To him he'd always be the tag along he'd looked out for. Sure, he was grown up and more than capable of taking care of himself, but old habits died hard.

He could still picture the utter devastation on his face when he'd heard about Caitlin and the kids. He'd looked like a man who'd had his whole world ripped apart. When Saint John had heard the news, strangely enough he'd worried more about String than Cait. If she didn't pull through, he wasn't so sure his brother would either. If anything, he seemed to look worse with each passing day.

Unfortunately, he couldn't think of one thing he could do to take care of little brother this time. It was a path he'd have to find on his own, he thought sadly, thinking back to when he'd lost Bella. The thing was, if String lost Cait too, he wasn't so sure he'd even bother looking.

Sighing, he looked down at his watch. Rivers was late. No real surprise there. For a guy who was so military oriented, he sure failed when it came to punctuality.

In the distance, a cloud of dust rose on the dirt road. Gradually it got larger as the car got closer. That'd be Rivers, he thought languidly leaning forward and hitting the switch for the rotors.

Stretching, he reached for the headset. The car careened to a sliding halt some fifty yards away. Two men jumped out brandishing automatic rifles.

"Crap!" Saint John exclaimed in stunned astonishment, jolting into action. Frantic fingers urged the rotors into faster motion, grasping the cyclic and the stick, counting the seconds 'til he could lift off. "Johnson's going to kill me, if they don't," the blonde muttered unhappily, flinching as a bullet clipped the cockpit and the men ran closer. Praying, he shoved the Hughes into the air, swinging her tail boom towards the men forcing them to duck, or come to an unhappy ending with her tail rotors.

Climbing, she headed upwards and away from the scene below. Peering down, he shook his head, "Definitely not Rivers." He shrugged working the tension out of his shoulders. "Guess I'd better find out where 'ol Mikey is."

Sweeping the dirt road, he followed it back towards town. A couple miles back, he spotted another dust cloud heading in the direction of the first. Hovering, he paced it as it slid to a halt on the shoulder of the road. "No offense, Mikey," he muttered, "but I think I'll just take a pass on another welcoming party." He waited to see who would appear.

Curly, blonde hair topped the head that popped out and ducked against the sandstorm created by the downwash. Running he headed for the middle of the road, obviously waiting to be picked up, eyes shaded against the wind.

Relaxing, Saint John eased the 'copter down, tipping her nose upwards as he did so. Mike ran towards it, even as it settled heavily to earth. Grasping the door handle, he swung up inside.

"Glad to see you, buddy," he exclaimed.

"No gladder than I am to see you," Saint John retorted. "I met your friends. I gotta say we're going to have to get you out more."

"My friends?" the pilot questioned, his boyish features pulled into a frown.

"Yeah," Saint John rejoined, lifting off again as Mike put on his headset. "About two miles back. I hope you're going to have a better explanation for Ed Johnson than I do about these bullet holes."

Startled blue eyes took in the distinctive pock marks in the windshield. He whistled. "And I thought I had a talent for finding trouble."

"Evidently it's contagious," Saint John grumbled back. "Who exactly have you been making friends with while you were gone?"

"Wish I knew," Rivers blew out in frustration. "I dropped Sarah and Chris up here to visit with friends of hers in Dead Horse Falls. I thought I'd picked up a tail leaving, but I was sure I'd lost them."

"You did," Saint John retorted. "They found me."

"Sorry about that," Rivers commented, his eyes twinkling. "But I'm glad it was you flying. I don't want to be the one to have to explain to Johnson how his bird got additional air conditioning."

Saint John snorted in disgust. "Well, if we don't figure out what's going on around here soon, explaining to Johnson will be the least of our problems."

Rivers turned questioning eyes to his friend. "Wanna explain?" he said warily. "What's this I hear about Hawke being out of commission and somebody being out to get the Lady's crew?"

"Not really," the blonde retorted.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Saint John sighed, shoving the throttle forward as he headed back in the direction of Van Nuys and home. "But, I guess you do need to know what we've gotten ourselves into since you've been gone. Maybe you'll have a better idea who's behind it than we do…"


	7. Chapter 7

"Where's the data you stole, Hawke?"

"I'm telling you I didn't take any data," Seb bit out angrily, watching the other man pace around the table.

Thor glared at him with baleful eyes. "You're going to have to do better than that young man," he snarled. "I'm not going to tolerate this mollycoddling around that Zeus and Archangel have put up with around here."

"And I'm telling you," Seb yelled back, "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

A beefy palm slammed into the table beside him. "Talk blast you!"

Seb glared back, his lips tight.

"Somebody compromised the project data, and outside the committee there are only two passcodes - yours and Marella Coldsmith-Briggs." Leaning across the table, the barrel-chested man glared at Seb his hands handcuffed behind him.

"Then maybe you'd better take a look at your committee!" Seb threw back insolently. " 'Cause Marella didn't do it, and I sure as hell didn't take it."

Swearing, Thor reached over and slammed Seb's head onto the table. "Don't start with me you insolent pup. I'll be more than happy to kill you an inch at a time."

"You and who's army?" Seb taunted, his lip starting to bleed. He struggled upright.

Raging, Thor smashed his shoulder back to the table. He turned on his heel, heading for the door. "You think about what I've said Hawke, 'cause your brother won't be around to bail you out this time, and neither will Archangel." The door slammed shut behind him.

Painfully Seb sat up, the salty taste of blood in his mouth. Head pounding, he rolled his shoulders as he tried to loosen the knots in them from the cuffs that bound his hands. What the heck was going on here anyway? He wondered. And where the hell was String?

* * *

The kids situated in the back of the jet ranger Hawke headed for the airfield. Skirting the restricted air zone, he mulled over the events of the day. There could be no debating about the string of bad luck merely being coincidence now. Obviously somebody wanted something pretty badly, and he was willing to bet it was Airwolf. The only question was who?

Maybe, Michael would have some answers, he hoped. At the very least though, he had to do something to get Seb out. He winced thinking of his brother in the committee's hands while he wallowed in grief and self-pity.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Amelia's voice squealed over the headset in his ears.

Hawke winced, but knew he couldn't complain. Who'd have ever thought he'd be glad to have his little girl deafening him over the radio? "Yeah, 'Melia?" he replied, mentally thinking inside voice, inside voice.

Blessedly she notched it down an octave. "Look! Roper's here! Roper's here!"

Automatically, Hawke glanced down. Roper stood below him, waving rag in hand.

Edging the nose of the helicopter upwards, Hawke landed, the skids bumping lightly on the tarmac.

Climbing out of the jet ranger, the kids ran across the asphalt yelling a welcome to their half-brother, Hawke following behind.

Freezing in astonishment, Roper looked from the kids to Hawke and back to the kids. This lasted maybe a minute, and then he let out a war whoop of his own. Throwing the grease rag down, he ran towards them, scooping up Amelia in his arms and spinning her around, before snagging Nicky in an enormous bear hug.

Hawke caught up as he was setting Nicky down.

"How?" Roper asked Hawke, his voice choked with emotion. He shook his head, "I don't understand."

Throwing his arm around his oldest son, String grinned. "You know, I don't either," he laughed, "and somehow it doesn't matter in the least."

Roper looked at him bemused for a second and then shrugged, shaking his head and chuckling himself. "You're right," he agreed. "It doesn't matter in the least." Together, the two men walked towards the hanger, the kids running ahead.

* * *

It was late evening by the time Saint John Hawke set the Hughes down at the airfield. Too late to tell Johnson about the new air vents his chopper had accumulated, he thought with a twinge of relief. Maybe Everett would have some ideas on where he could get a piece to fix the windshield before he had to talk to him tomorrow.

Tiredly, he slid out of the pilot's seat and started across the runway, Mike beside him. Happily, Rivers kept up a running stream of conversation that didn't seem to require a lot of input from him. Good thing, he thought sourly, the last couple of weeks had left him with little good to say.

Given a choice at the moment he'd gladly chuck it all. Losing the kids had been the final blow. He still wasn't sure String would ever get over it, and Caitlin hadn't looked much better the last time he'd seen her. At least the doctors were holding out hope, he thought tiredly. He guessed that was something.

"You expecting company?" Mike's voice broke across his thoughts. The cheerful, blond Air Force Major normally was an effervescent counterpoint with his more bubbly personality to the more somber Saint John Hawke. Right now, he was dangerously close to getting on his nerves.

"No, why?" he snarled, rubbing a hand across his face in fatigue.

Mike raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't seem particularly put out by his bad mood. "Because we seem to have it," he retorted, pointing a finger at the light in the office window.

Following his line of direction, the older Hawke frowned. "Can't imagine that being String," he said referring to his brother's lost apathy the last couple of weeks. "Guess it could be Roper, but it's pretty late for him."

"Trouble?" Mike asked, his brash cheer muted.

"Probably," Saint John grimly replied, reaching behind him for his gun. Motioning the other man to back him up, they stealthily made their way to the office door. Silently twisting the handle he flung the door open, stepping inside gun raised.

Startled, Hawke and Roper froze. Roper's hand going for his gun on the desk and Hawke shoving the kids behind the desk as he drew his own gun.

String?" Saint John asked in confusion, Mike at his elbow. "What are you doing her?"

"Waiting on you," Hawke replied laconically, "though I did expect a better welcome," he said as he set his gun down on the desk.

Saint John looked at him and then down at the gun in his hands. Flushing, he shoved it into his waistband, Mike doing the same. "Sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't expecting to find you here."

"Obviously not," String replied, relaxing himself. "Mike," he nodded at the other man beside his brother. "Good to have you back." He shook his hand.

"Good to be back," the curly headed pilot rejoined, grasping his hand in greeting.

Nicky and Amelia slid out from behind the desk as greeting were exchanged. Mike having heard of the kids deaths and Caitlin's accident looked stunned. Reaching over, he grabbed Saint John's arm.

Saint John looked at him in surprise. Motioning with his head, Mike indicated behind Hawke. Pausing mid-sentence, Saint John leaned to take a look.

"Nicky?" he breathed. "Amelia?" His gaze flew to Hawke in confusion. "But how, when?" he asked in amazement, leaning down to hug the kids. "I thought…"

"So did I," Hawke answered. Affectionately, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder as he held Amelia close. "Roper convinced me I needed a break," here he gave Roper a telling look, "and dragged me out of the hospital. He was more right than you'll ever know."

"Evidently," Mike grinned, his eyes twinkling.

"But why didn't you tell us?" Saint John asked in confusion.

Here Hawke sobered. "I would have liked to Sinj, believe me. But after everything else that has happened, I thought it might be safer for the kids to go on pretending to be dead for a while."

Saint John frowned, evidently not completely agreeing, but he kept his peace. He could see String's point to a degree. It was safer for the kids, the less people knew of their existence at the moment, and broadcasting that they'd been found over the radio airwaves probably wouldn't have gone very far towards keeping it quiet.

Mike seeing his friend's frown, jumped in. "I say this calls for a celebration!" he exclaimed. "Pizza at my place."

The kids cheered happily, while Roper shook his head in amused tolerance. "Adult beverages for the grown-ups," Rivers said to Saint John and Hawke in an aside.

Saint John smirked. "So what does that leave you, Mikey?" he razzed. Hawke laughed out loud.

Rivers narrowed his eyes at him, before breaking into an ebullient grin of his own. "Who cares?" he tossed back. "We've got plenty of reason to celebrate."

"Amen to that," the others chorused.

Opening the door with a flourish, Mike gestured them out. "Come on, come on," he urged, "times a wastin'…" Piling out the others clogged the door. Hawke glanced down and slid his gun into his pocket.

The crowd dissipating, Rivers looked at Hawke. "You coming, String?" he asked his hand on the door.

Hawke looked up, his thoughts preoccupied. "Hmm,…yeah," he answered. Efficiently he picked up the flight charts rolling them together and tucking them under his arm before walking out of the office. He slammed the door shut behind him.

The party continued at Mike's a couple hours 'til the kids collapsed asleep in the floor. Several pizzas had been demolished, even String deigning to eat some pepperoni pizza after pulling off the pepperoni with a vaguely disgusted look. Leaning back with a couple of beers, the mood was decidedly mellow.

"So, what's the plan concerning Seb?" Rivers asked, propping his feet up on the coffee table and draining the last of his beer bottle.

"Good question," Saint John replied. "String?"

Hawke looked up at him from the charts he'd spread across the dining room table. "Send Roper in to get him, I suppose," he said with a sigh. "He's got the military credentials and the security clearance. So far, he seems to have slid under the committee's radar."

"What about me?" Rivers asked. "I don't mind going."

Hawke looked up appreciatively. "I know Mike, but I can't imagine them not already flagging you, whether it's in the system or not," waving his hand as he indicated the laptop beside him.

"What makes you think they won't have noticed Roper?" Saint John asked.

"Mostly I'm just hoping," Hawke said. "I recommended him for the program and Archangel accepted his application. That's the only thing on paper that connects him to us. The records all show him as being Nhi Huong and Sam's son. Not mine."

"So, you don't know for sure," Roper questioned, stretching tin the armchair where he sat.

"No," Hawke replied honestly. "I don't." Tapping a pencil on the table, he frowned in consternation. "So far as I can tell, no. My gut tells me they've missed it - they are prone to missing what's right in front of their faces. But," he continued, lifting his gaze to Roper's dark blue one, "I could be wrong."

Roper paused considering. "Fair enough," he answered after a minute. "Seb's my friend too, and after all, as you've said, he's family. I'm in."

Hawke nodded, feeling tension he hadn't even realized was there loosen in his shoulders. "Okay then," he said, motioning the others over, "Here's what we'll do…"


	8. Chapter 8

Marella awoke slowly, the ceaseless, neverending beeping pressing in on her. Relentlessly it tugged at her, nudging her from blessed darkness to a bright, painful awareness. Blinking, she tried to focus blearily on the room around her. Gingerly, she raised her head, the resulting cacophony driving her back to the pillow with a groan.

Weakly, she raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Beside her, Michael stirred, the ever present glasses perched on the end of his nose, laptop forgotten in his lap as he slept.

Fuzzily, she tried to focus. The monitor continued to beep relentlessly and she wished somebody would turn the thing off. It was like having a trumpet section in her head, but louder.

"Somebody make it stop," she muttered, disentangling her other hand from Michael's and holding it to her aching head.

An intense blue eye popped open, assimilating everything in an instant. "Marella," he whispered, the pleasure in his southern drawl evident. A grin broke across his face. "You're awake."

A fine scowl marred her features as she looked at him. "Michael?" she whispered, her voice rusty with disuse, the gaze still confused.

"Shh-hh, give it a couple of minutes," he comforted. "It'll take a little while to get your bearings."

Fluttering the dark, brown eyes came back to his face. "Hurts," she mumbled pressing her fingers against her temple.

Long fingers smoothed the curly locks away from her face gently. His gaze caught hers and held, a curious mixture of love and shrewdness. He waited.

Cognizance settled in. The mocha-colored eyes flew open, clear as the sky outside her room. "I remember!" she avowed, her voice a rough whisper. Michael held the glass of water for her urging her to drink.

Sipping she coughed, tried again. Slender, delicate brown fingers wrapped around his where they rested against her cheek.

"Must warn Hawke," she said, struggling to find the words. "After Airwolf, after him."

Fury rose at her words, confirmation of what he'd suspected, but could not prove. He tamped it back impatiently. "Who, Marella?" he questioned urgently.

The gaze focused on him, a little muddled again. The frown between her eyes deepened. She cast her thoughts about blindly, trying to remember.

Sighing she slumped, her eyes apologetic. "Can't remember."

Michael rose, pacing the room in frustration, his limp noticeably evident.

Eyeing him - the casual clothes, the disheveled appearance, Marella worried her lip. "How long?" she murmured.

Startled, Michael's attention flew back to her. "Hmm?" he asked.

"How long?" she repeated, struggling to sit up in bed.

The broad shoulders slouched. "Three weeks," he said wearily.

She groaned struggling to remember, thoughts and details slipping just out of her grasp. A memory teased her.

"I'll get a nurse," Michael said struggling to reign in his frustration and impatience, but relieved to have her back. He stepped towards the door.

Memory crystallized. "Michael wait!" Marella cried reaching for him. "I remember, I remember now!"

Spinning, he searched her face. "You're sure?" he asked, afraid to hope for too much.

"Yes," she replied, the voice weak but certain, confident - the Marella he knew. "I was walking downstairs to talk to Seb. I'd found some discrepancies in the Airwolf files. Things that'd been moved around that made no sense.

"And?" he asked, waiting.

"It looked like somebody's been hacking the system, pulling information bit by bit. I wanted to check with him since only he and I should have access to the files."

Michael nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"I'd just started down the stairs when Ulrich Holsen passed me. I remember greeting him and continuing on. Then all the sudden, something shoved me from behind. I can't remember anything after that Michael."

Absently he patted her hand, his thoughts racing.

"Michael," she said, tightening her grip on his fingers.

"Hmm?" he responded, staring at her.

"Ulrich Holsen no longer works for us. That's what I remembered, right before I was pushed."

* * *

Leisurely strides eating up the distance, Stringfellow Hawke covered the distance from the parking lot to the elevators deceptively quickly. Beside him, two dark haired children kept pace. Suprisingly, both children were quiet as if they understood the seriousness of the visit.

His face set in grim lines looking for all intents the worried husband, Hawke made the elevator, the heavy doors closing behind him. Secure in the relative privacy of the lift, he gave his children a wink.

Looking up, Nicky grinned. The girl started to speak, only to be pinned by her brother's stern glare. She subsided with a sigh. Squeezing her hand, Hawke chuckled inwardly as he smoothed a hand across her curls.

Reaching the eighth floor, the doors swooshed open almost soundlessly and the man stepped out, his face schooled into impassitivity. Flanking him, the children made their way down the tiled corridor and into Caitlin's room.

Uneasily they looked from their father to the still, slender form in the bed. Crouching down, he re-assured them. " 'Auntie' Cait's just asleep guys, don't wake her." Leaning close he whispered in Nicky's ear, "Stay here, I've got to talk to Michael and whatever you do, don't let your sister talk to anyone." Nodding seriously, the boy sidled up next to his sister and the bed.

Placing his hand on the coppery curls Hawke said quietly, "Mind your brother, I'll be back soon." Tilting her head the girl nodded, her blue eyes huge.

Turning to go, the pilot smoothed away an errant reddish strand from the pale face. Gently, he brushed the backs of his fingers against her soft cheek before he bent and kissed her, his lips lingering momentarily. Pain flickered briefly across the impassive features, before he schooled the mask into place again. "Come back to me, Cait," he whispered. "I need you. The kids need you." Drawing a shuddering breath, he rose.

Giving the kids a meaningful look he spoke, "Mind your Uncle Michael," and with that he was gone.

* * *

The heavy hospital door clicking shut behind him, Hawke silently made his way down to Marella's room. Rapping quietly on the door he strode in.

On his feet instantly, Michael greeted him. "Hawke," he said relief evident in his voice. "I wondered when you might turn up."

"You know me," the dark-haired man murmured, his eyes straying beyond Michael to the bed. "Marella," he said, inclining his head slightly. "It's good to see you looking better." Though the words were formal, the grin was not.

"Hawke," she smiled in welcome. "I'm so glad to see you." Extending her hand, she motioned him closer.

He shook his head sadly. "I can't stay, Marella. I've got to go see about getting Seb. I just came to ask a favor of Michael."

"Oh?" the spy questioned, looking at him.

"The kids are here," he said bluntly. "They're in Cait's room. I need you to look out for them."

"But I thought…" Michael began, stunned.

"Yeah, so did I," Hawke returned, meeting the spy's look levelly. "Thank God I was wrong."

"I'll say," Archangel replied with relief. He'd wondered if the pilot was going to pull through.

"So far as anyone knows, they're your niece and nephew," Hawke said, knowing Michael would've swept the room. He wouldn't be able not to, he'd been a spy too long. "Don't let them out of your sight, Michael." Hawke's blue eyes were serious.

"Of course," Michael agreed. "But surely you don't think someone will come after the kids?" he asked.

"They already have," Hawke answered bluntly. "If I'd been a little later, they'd a had them. As it was, Nicky got to try out his marksmanship."

A startled blue eye flew to Hawke's face. "He what?!" he exclaimed.

"Don't ask," he replied tersely, urging Michael out the door. "Go first, so we aren't seen together."

Tightening his grip on the cane, Michael reached for the door handle.

"Oh, and Michael?" Hawke spoke, his voice deadly.

The spy paused. "Yes?"

"If you've still got any contacts, I could use a clean up crew at the cabin."

He nodded in understanding. "Consider it done," and was gone.

Hawke wasted no time. In two brief steps, he was at Marella's bedside. "You're okay?" he asked grasping her hand and squeezing.

She nodded. "Yes, but…"

Hawke cut her off. "Good. Take this," he said sliding the Walther PPK out of his inside jacket.

Concerned brown eyes met his. "You're expecting trouble?"

"Yeah," Hawke said, "and plenty of it. I'm not so sure somebody on the committees not in on it."

Marella started to argue, and then realized what he said made perfect sense. Ulrich might have worked for the firm, but after he'd left his clearance had been terminated. Somebody had to have let him in.

She reached for the gun, sliding it into a practiced grip and checking the clip. "We'll watch over them, Hawke," she promised.

"I know," Hawke replied. "Look I gotta go…"

She nodded. "I guessed as much."

Kissing her cheek fondly, he rose to leave before she got the next words out. Calling out, she caught him at he door. "It's Ulrich Holsen, Hawke. Be careful, he's good and he has no love lost for you."

Hawke froze at the door, his shoulders slumping at the thought of the man he'd gotten fired. "Watch yourself, Marella," he instructed solemnly and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Wind sweeping his hair back, Stringfellow Roper sped down the winding state road towards White Rock Mesa. Checking the odometer, he rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension that was settling there. He picked up the radio.

"Angelwolf 1, Angelwolf 1, do you read?"

"We're here," Mike's cheerful voice came across the airwaves. "What's up wolf pup?"

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Roper figured the first thing he'd do when this mission was over was throttle Rivers for handing him out that call sign. The man was getting entirely too much amusement out of him being Hawke's long lost son and being on the low end of the totem pole. "Pick up on schedule," he replied. "Loading zone five minutes away."

"We copy," Mike returned. "Angelwolf will proceed as planned. Meet you at the barn."

"Will do," Roper replied, clicking off. Now all he had to do was get past the gate and through the checkpoints without getting caught or shot. "Piece o'cake, String 'ol boy," he muttered, pulling out his I.D. card for the guard at the gate.

The bored looking private glanced it over before handing it back. Waving him through, he saluted. Roper grinned and gunned the engine. "Maybe this won't be so hard after all," he muttered pulling away from the gate.

Swinging into the nearby lot, he headed towards a squat, brick building. Shoving his cover on his head, he took in the dark, tinted windows through his sunglasses. "Well, here goes," he said sliding out ogf the jeep and picking up his briefcase.

Brisk steps carried him across the asphalt and through the glass doors, his steps echoing hollowing on the tile. Pausing at security he flashed his badge looking away, pretending to be in a hurry and distracted.

"I don't see you listed, Captain," the clerk said skimming her list.

Heaving a sigh of irritation, Roper turned on her, the glasses coming off and the glare icy. "Then I suggest you look again," he bit out, "or get someone down here who can. I'm expected upstairs in five minutes and the committee isn't known for their patience."

Nervously, the girl looked down again, skimming the list. "Who did you say sent you?" she asked, her voice thready.

"I didn't," he said glaring. "Fine," he huffed. "Garrett Dane." Can we get on with this? I've now got three minutes to be upstairs."

Nodding the girl skimmed the list looking for a Garrett Dane. Reading the clearance, she swallowed hard. "Go, - go right ahead, sir."

"Thanks," Roper ground out spinning on his heel and heading for the elevators.

Inside the doors clanged shut, and he leaned weakly against the burnished steel surface. Drawing a steadying breath, he looked up at the floor numbers. That's been closer than he would've liked. He'd better get a move on before somebody with a little more experience came along.

Hitting the fifth floor, he strode out case in hand. A couple of clerks on the far wall sat gossiping as they sipped their coffee and filed requisitions. He sauntered down the hall, briefcase in hand like he had every right to be there, only to cast a furtive look over his shoulder as he slipped inside the door marked stairs.

The latch snicked quietly behind him as he hurried down the steps, lock picking tools concealed in his hand. Getting to the fourth landing, he passed a barcoded card through the reader on the door and passed through like magic. "Good show, Lauren," he muttered.

Cautiously, he slipped down the bare linoleum hallway, an austere contrast to the opulence of the floor above. Here the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed emphasizing the grimness of the place.

Ears straining, he edged down the hall heading towards what looked like interrogation rooms and holding cells at the other end. Voices echoed down the corridor around the corner. Anxiously, he peered into each of the rooms, knowing he was running out of time.

The second room yielded results. Slumped over the table, his head pillowed on his arm sat Seb. Seeing the bruised cheekbone and blood matted in his hair, Roper cursed. Shoving the lock pick home, he struggled with the older style lock, wishing he had a passcode for this one.

He slipped inside and eased the door shut just as the first steps echoed down his hallway. Holding his breath, he waited 'til they faded.

"Seb," he hissed. "Seb." Gently, he shook the blonde-haired man who looked so much like Saint John.

Sebastian Hawke snapped awake, the manacles from the chains he wore catching Roper in the face, as he snaked them around his neck. Suddenly on the defensive Roper shoved his hand between the chain and his windpipe, smashing an elbow into the other's ribs.

Gasping in pain at his already bruised ribs, Seb's hold loosened and Roper ducked free, crabbing on his hands and feet out of reach. "What the blast is your problem?" he rasped. "I'm here to get you out."

"Roper?" he asked confused, recognition in his voice. "Ah crap. I'm sorry, man." He struggled to wipe blood-matted hair out of his eyes.

Rubbing his throat, Roper approached Seb - a little warily this time. He pulled out the pick and went after the manacles on his ankles first. "I trust that was a mistake," he hissed.

"Sorry," Seb apologized. "You just caught me by surprise, and every time that's happened the last couple days I've come out the worse for wear."

Looking at him, Roper believed it. "Forget it," he said. "We've got to get out of here."

"Fine by me," Seb replied, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists as he stumbled to his feet.

Creeping to the door on silent feet, Roper motioned for him to be quiet. The hall was empty. Gesturing Seb to come on, he slipped out.

Stealthily, the two men hurried down the hall towards the stairwell. Shoving the door open, they hurried down the steps two at a time. By the time they reached the bottom, both were breathing hard.

Sliding the passcode through the last reader, Roper had just begun to relax when the alarm sounded. Sliding the card code through the reader again, it flashed red.

"Damn," he cursed. "We've been made. Frantic, he shoved both hands through his hair trying to think.

"Kick it down," Seb rejoined quietly. "That's our only chance."

"Slim one," Roper said bitterly.

"Yeah, well at least it is one."

He had to concede the point.

Together, two black booted heels slammed into the door. It shuddered, but held. Again they hit, and again the door held. "This isn't working," Roper muttered. "Come on." Grabbing the others arm, he ran for the entrance next to the elevators.

The door slammed open overhead. Yelled demands of stop reverberated down the stairs. Ignoring them, the two men ran, slamming out of the stairwell door and raced across the tiled entranceway.

Sprinting, they headed for the glass door shoving it open as they hit. The metal frame shuddered as it slammed back. Keys in hand Roper scrambled for the jeep, Seb behind him.

Seb's breath was rasping now, clawing in and out of his bruised ribs. Panting he stumbled, even as Roper made the jeep, the key grinding in the ignition. Slamming it hard into reverse he swung it back.

"Get in," he yelled frantic. "Now!"

Staggering, Seb made the last fifteen feet dragging himself in, before Roper raced towards the airfield.

"Where're …you going?" Seb panted. "Gates…the other way."

"I know," Roper bit out. "But we'll never make it." He motioned with his head to the men running for vehicles behind them.

Seb looked. "Damn," he breathed, gripping the dash white-knuckled. "We might as well give up. There's no way we can out run that."

Reaching across the dash, Roper picked up the radio. "Angelwolf, Angelwolf this is wolf cub. Do you read?"

Hawke's voice came across the radio, even as ever. "Wolf cub this is Angelwolf, copy."

"Request immediate pick up at north end of the airfield. I repeat, immediate pick up at north end of airfield.

"Roger," Hawke replied pressing the turbos.

Slamming the jeep to a skidding halt, Roper waited in the far end of the field watching the other vehicles draw closer. Even as he did, a screeching howl rent the air as a sleek, black shape hurtled towards them cresting the hill. It swept between them and the oncoming pursuing force. The machine guns rattled, slamming round after round into the ground, cutting a wide swath between Zebra Squad and the escapees. Zebra Squad skidded to an abrupt halt.

Swinging back, Airwolf swooped in front of them of them, shielding from the gunfire. Not bothering with landing gear, Hawke hovered a couple feet above the ground. Opening the door, Seb clambered up, sliding into the engineer's position. Roper was right behind him.

"Hear you guys need a ride?" Hawke teased as they scrambled in.

"Ya think," Seb reported sarcastically.

Roper just grinned.

Catching Seb's comment, String turned to look at him as he slid on his helmet. The blue eyes narrowed appraisingly at the bruises he saw. "Committee?" he asked his voice harsh.

Seb saw the reaction. "Nah," he sighed, shoving the helmet home. "Thor. Just let it go, String."

Hawke made no comment as he turned back to the instruments, but his eyes were cold and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Somebody would pay.


	9. Chapter 9

Ulrich Holsen perched on the edge of his chair enjoying the last of a glass of very old, very expensive brandy. Savoring the mellow bite, he closed his eyes appreciatively. If one had to wait, he mused, might as well do it in style.

Footsteps echoed on the stone portico behind him. Idly he took another sip.

"I trust you have the information, Mr. Holsen?" a voice asked, cultured and smooth.

"Of course," he said, staring off at the sunset.

"Good," the smoky voice continued. "What's this I hear about Hawke escaping?"

"Minor snafu. My men are looking for him now. We should run him to ground shortly."

"You'd better. We need him - not only as a scapegoat, but to get Stringfellow Hawke out of the way." There was no mistaking the unspoken threat in the words.

Irritated, Ulrich took a gulp of brandy. The drink burned a fiery path down his throat. "I'll take care of it."

"You'd better," the steel was undeniable in the voice now. My contacts are waiting on the information to upgrade their air defenses even as we speak."

"Understood."

"It'd better be. Sebastian Hawke is part of the deal. He goes where the data goes, and I want no problems out of that brother of his!"

Angrily, Ulrich turned. "I said, I'd take care of it!"

Instantly, he slammed face first to the stone patio, a stiletto heel placed firmly in his back and a wicked looking knife edging his throat. Strong fingers grasped his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. A trickle of blood dribbled to the stones below.

"And as I have said, you will do as you are told. Do you understand?"

Feeling the knife scrape his Adam's apple, he nodded.

"Good, just so as we understand each other. His head was released so suddenly it smacked against the stones. Now get on with it!"

Scrambling to his feet, Ulrich headed for the door, his hand still pressed to his throat.

The cell phone laying on the glass table chirped. Slapping it open with an impatient hand, she watched him go eyes narrowed, and fine nostrils flared. "Freyja," she answered, her voice brittle.

"The committee meets in half an hour. We must discuss the Hawke problem."

"Of course, Thor," she replied, her eyes cold. "I'll be there." She flipped the phone closed, raking a well-manicured hand through the long, white-blond tresses. Shoving the phone into her skirt pocket, she paced the edge of the pool. "Lauren," she yelled, "get the helicopter ready."

* * *

Seated around the conference table, pandemonium reined. "What do you mean Hawke disappeared from our facility?" Thor roared.

"One of the Airwolf team walked in and took him, sir."

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Thor barked, "Who?"

"Don't know, sir. The credentials were legit. He looked a lot like Captain Hawke - but younger."

Thor looked like he was ready to spit nails. "Looked like?" he ranted. "So how'd they get away?"

This time the agent cringed. "In Airwolf, sir."

"In Airwolf…"

"Yes, sir."

"You're going to tell me Stringfellow Hawke just walked in and took a 750 million dollar piece of equipment, and nobody thought to stop him.

"Well, actually we're not sure who took it. Hawke wasn't on the grounds when it disappeared.

Thor slammed his hands to the tabletop in anger. "What kind of agency do you people think you are running anyway?"

Freyja, Thor's second in command stood up. "Where's Archangel?" she demanded. The others shrugged. "There's your problem," she bit out. "Someone is feeding them information. Archangel's management of the Airwolf project has been rife with problems from the beginning. Round up Archangel and Hawke will follow."

Thor's cold grey eyes met hers, and he nodded. "Activate Zebra Squad. Bring them in alive if you can, if not…eliminate them."

Freyja smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

Caitlin stirred, sensing the presence of eyes watching her. Mumbling, she pushed the covers away. Marella glanced at the kids, smiling. "Told you," she whispered. "She's going to be okay."

Michael grinned, looking over at his wife. "You were right," he complimented. "The change in meds does seem to be bringing her around."

She nodded.

Slender fingers plucked at the blanket edge, eyelashes fluttering.

Michael reached out and held her hand gently in his own, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Cait," he whispered. "It's time to wake up."

Blue-green eyes blinked open, trying blearily to focus and not quite succeeding. "Michael?" she asked confused.

"I'm here," he reassured her. Restlessly, she looked around somewhat agitated. Taking in the kids and Marella she frowned in confusion. "Where's Hawke?" she asked drowsily.

"On his way," Michael promised, looking at Marella. "On his way." He only hoped he wasn't lying.

* * *

Lowering her landing gear, Airwolf settled to earth safely inside the lair. Saint John and Rivers waited beside a jeep. Peeling the helmets off, Hawke and the others joined them.

Rejoicing. Saint John and Rivers welcomed Seb back to the fold. Grinning, String watched them and Seb fondly. "Hey String, you going to join us or what?" Saint John called after a minute.

"Yeah, I think I will," Hawke replied taking the beer the other offered and joining him on the rocky ground. Sitting in a rough circle with the others leaning against a boulder, he silently contemplated his brothers and his son. Who would've thought, he mused idly, sitting on the cold, hard ground of the lair could feel so much like coming home?

"Uh oh, String's gone all quiet and contemplative on us," Saint John teased.

Hawke gave a sheepish grin, having been caught woolgathering.

"When isn't he?" Seb retorted.

"Contemplative?" Rivers snorted. "He only gets that way 'cause he's hunting for a thought in that empty head of his."

Hawke glared at him hard for a moment and then his lips twitched and he was unrestrainedly laughing along with the rest of them.

At last, gasping for breath and wiping their eyes, the men sobered.

"So what now?" Rivers asked. "We've got Seb, but you gotta know the committee's not going to be happy about that. How do we go about tracking down Holsen?"

Frowning Saint John looked at him. Even Roper stretched out on the ground with his arms behind his head had the grace to look worried.

The communications alarm in Airwolf sounded.

"I'll get it," Hawke said tersely, rising to his feet and loping over to where the helicopter sat. Reaching inside, he hit the switch for communications.

"Go ahead, Michael," he said curtly.

"Hawke?" The voice was definitely not Michael's.

Climbing up, he slid into the seat. "Yeah, who is this?" he asked punching up visual. A pretty blonde who looked vaguely familiar appeared, looking more than a little scared.

"That part doesn't matter," she retorted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can only say this once, so listen."

The co-pilot side cockpit door whooshed open and Saint John slid in silently beside him. Hawke's glance slid to him, but didn't acknowledge him.

"I'm listening."

Zebra squads been activated. They're on their way to the hospital now." In the background he heard Saint John curse and saw him motion to Mike frantically. Even as his gut clenched, String had the feeling that wasn't the bad news.

"And?" he asked, praying he was wrong.

He wasn't.

"I overheard Freyja - she's second on the committee - planning an exchange, the Airwolf data and Seb for 4.5 million and safe passage. She's planning on selling it to the Iraqis. The buyers are supposed to meet her down on the pier tonight. The Iraqis have a tanker there.

Numbly Hawke nodded.

"She wants you dead, Hawke. Dead and out of her way," the words tumbled out now, like rain past her lips. "And if she gets that, then she has no use for the rest of your family."

"Thanks," he managed forcing the words past the fear that lodged in his throat. Hands shaking, he switched off the communications relay, desperately trying to come up with a plan, any plan. There was no way he could beat Zebra Squad to the hospital if they were already in route and get all of them out safely - not to mention he didn't even know if there was a way Caitlin could be moved.

Saint John looked at him with steady hazel gray eyes, seeming to realize Hawke was beyond formulating a plan for himself this time. "Gotta go, String," he said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Mike and I will take the jet ranger and head over towards the hospital. We'll back you up as best we can, but Airwolf's faster and you'll need the space to get them out, so you're gonna have to go on your own. Seb and Roper will take the jeep."

Dazedly, Hawke nodded.

Frowning, Saint John gave him a shake. "Get it in gear, little brother. That family of yours is depending on you to get them out of this."

Shoving thoughts of old jinxes away, Hawke reached for his helmet hearing Saint John close the cockpit door behind him with a whoosh. Mechanically, he flipped the cover off the start up switch and punched the start engine button. He waited as the rotors picked up speed with every revolution, the droning whine reminding him for some reason of a she-wolf's growl.

Left hand reaching for the cyclic he eased back, the rotors biting air as she rose slowly off the canyon floor. A wisp of a memory tugged at his mind, Dominic in the engineer's position backing him. If he imagined hard enough, he could almost feel the grizzled old pilot still there with him.

Blinking back tears, he swallowed hard. He wished Dom was here to back him now. He'd a known what to do.

Focusing, he watched the edges of the canyon's chimney walls as Dom's Lady rose. "Come on baby," he whispered as they cleared the lip of the hollowed out mesa. "We gotta go save the rest of Dom's family."

Hitting the turbos, she lunged hard into the wind as if straining at the constraints of gravity that held her. Her howl echoed off the canyon walls, screaming challenge to the committee and all comers as she hurtled towards the hospital and his family.

* * *

Uneasily, Archangel set the phone down. He'd been jumpy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs all day, he thought ruefully. But somehow he just couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong.

"Still can't raise Lauren?" Marella asked, her mocha eyes concerned.

He shook his head. "Not like her," he mumbled, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

"We could take the kids and slip out. It'd be a while before anyone was the wiser," Marella suggested.

"What about Cait?" Michael asked, inclining his head towards the bed where she slept.

"Just have to move her, and hope for the best," Marella said worriedly. "I think she'll be okay, since she's started to come around, but I still don't see why they had the narcotic dose so high on her. She should have been over the worst of the pain from the injuries in the accident."

"That worries you, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," she agreed. "It makes me wonder if there's something I've missed, or if there's more than we realize going on here."

The spy frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he mulled over her words. "No way of knowing for sure, I suppose?"

Marella shook her head. "If we move her we're taking a chance. If we stay and you're right we're taking an even bigger one. It's your call, Michael."

He paced the room, limping the cane in hand as he thought. Finally, he sighed. "We'll move her. You gather up the kids, and I'll see if I can hunt down another wheelchair."

Running IFF sensors and infrared, Hawke panned for signs of Zebra Squad. With just him, he guessed he'd have to land on the roof and take his chances.

He was just beginning to hope he'd beaten them to the punch, when he picked up two heavily armed Hughes twenty-five miles out. "Crap," he muttered, doina few quick calculations in his head. "Ten minutes 'til they land."

Throttling back, he dropped the landing gear as he dropped out of stealth mode above the roof.

Settling heavily on her landing struts, Hawke was out of Airwolf and running in a crouched lope even as her rotors continued circling. Firing a bullet at the lock on the rooftop access door, he slammed through the door taking the service stairs two at a time. The whole time he was mentally counting off the seconds 'til the Hueys landed.

Even once he'd gotten them out and up to the rooftop he still had to get them all aboard Airwolf. As he saw it there was no way the jet ranger would get there in time.

"Be my luck," he muttered, "they'll show up just in time for the firefight." Just catching the elevator he descended to Cait's floor. Shoving the gun under his jacket, he prayed no one would take a second look at the gray flight suit as he walked quickly down the hall.

Coming to Marella's room he stopped, figuring Michael would be there. Opening the door, he poked his head in, drawing a surprised breath when he realized the room was empty. The thought that he was too late staggered him, and then he was running down the hall for Cait's room as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Slamming open the door, shoulder first he skidded into the room. The deadly click of two automatics being aimed at him, had him slamming to a halt instantaneously.

Michael and Marella in the midst of moving Caitlin from the bed, both stared at him weapons drawn. Realizing it was only him, had Marella slouching and rolling her eyes as she put her gun away. Michael slid his back under his sweater seamlessly.

The kids stared at him their eyes huge.

"Zebra Squad," String panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Figured as much," Archangel replied succinctly, helping Marella pull Caitlin's I.V. loose. "How long?"

"Maybe five minutes," String answered, fighting the panic that churned in his gut. "We gotta go, Michael."

"I'm aware of that, Hawke," Michael responded tersely. "Nicky, how 'bout you and Amelia take Marella for a ride in her wheelchair down to the elevators. If we aren't there in a minute, head up to the roof."

"But Michael," Marella began as she unhooked the last of Caitlin's cords, "What about Cait?"

"Hawke and I will get her. Now go," he responded tersely.

Nodding, Nicky helped Marella into the chair and started for the elevator doors, looking for all the world like he did this all the time. Amelia walked alongside.

"Give me a hand, Hawke," said Archangel inclining his head. "Let's get her in the chair."

Still mentally counting off the minutes, String shoved Michael aside, picking up his unconscious wife in his arms. "We're outta time," he ground out, heading for the door and the hallway.

Sliding around him, Michael opened the door for Hawke as he made his way out.

Cait stirred slightly in his arms. "Hawke," she murmured reaching up weakly. The blue-green eyes were dazed.

He glanced down at the semi-conscious woman in his arms and felt his chest tighten. "Shh-h, baby. I've got you," he soothed. Shifting her slight weight in his arms, he lengthened his stride feeling the pull in his side from where Nicky's bullet had grazed him earlier.

"Stop!" a strident voice called out. "What do you think you're doing?" A stout nurse in scrubs came running after them. "That woman belongs in bed!"

Hawke ignored her, picking up his pace Caitlin held tight against his chest.

"Security! Security!" the nurse yelled. "Stop that man!"

"Do something, Michael," Hawke said between clenched teeth. "And you'd better do it quick!" He ran for the elevator, his breath coming laboriously now.

Michael reached behind him, grabbing a food cart and shoved. Dinner trays flew and crashed, spilling over the hall as the cart toppled. An orderly jumped to the side to avoid being hit. Flipping the cane handle, Michael caught him behind the knee sending him crashing to the ground unceremoniously. Doctors and nurses ran out of rooms to see what the commotion was.

Hawke was nearly to the elevator now, the doors closing. He cursed. "Catch the doors, Nicky!" he yelled, trying to pick up the pace.

Nicky stepped towards them, but it was evident he'd never grab them in time.

The other elevator opened, and a curly headed, blond-haired man stepped out, his hand shooting out to catch and hold the steel doors. Hawke shouldered past the orderly standing in his path, nearly falling.

He staggered into the elevator, casting a horrified look at Michael.

"Go!" Michael yelled, struggling to escape now as another orderly circled him from behind.

A taller, more muscular man stepped out of the other elevator, blonder than Hawke but with the same intensity. Lunging he threw himself into the fray.

The doors closed. Hawke sent a stricken glance to the man beside him, worried for Michael and Saint John. Rivers merely grinned, his blue eyes merry.

"Thought you might need some help," he commented. "You know Hawke, I'm beginning to see why you don't care much for hospitals. You really don't seem to be very popular in them."

Leaning against the back wall of the elevator, String gave a choked laugh, the adrenaline ebbing.

"You came," Cait muttered drowsily, reaching up to stroke Hawke's stubbled cheek with a soft hand.

He glanced down at his wife, shifting his hold and pressed a kiss to her damp brow. "Always," he whispered. His blue eyes held hers for a moment, before hers fluttered closed again. Swallowing hard, he shot a worried glance at Marella. She started to answer, but the they were at the top, the doors dinging open.

"Come on," Mike called, shoving past them. He made his way to the upper stairwell and slammed a well-equipped boot into the door. It shuddered under the impact, crashing back into the wall as it opened.

Reaching for Marella, he helped her to her feet, urging her upwards. Hawke stumbled up the stairs Caitlin still in his arms as the kids ran ahead.

Gaining the roof, they scattered out running for Airwolf. The kids running flat out, reached her first struggling with the right-side door. Mike half carrying Marella joined them, snatching it open and boosting them up.

"Get to the back, Nicky, Amelia!" he shouted as they scrambled in. Marella struggled in after them, clambering over the seat to the engineer's console. Hawke brought up the tail, Caitlin still in his arms.

"Give her to me," Rivers ordered, "and get this bird in the air!"

Hawke nodded, passing off Cait into Mike's waiting arms, and hurried back around to the pilot's side door. Opening it with a whoosh, he piled in fingers flicking switches and pressing buttons as he went. Engines and rotors springing to life, the blades picked up speed slicing the air with ever increasing velocity.

Hefting Cait into the co-pilot's chair, Mike fastened her in with deft fingers. String handed him the helmet and he slid it over her head. "Set," he said meeting Hawke's eyes. "You take care," the irreverent tone was serious for once.

Hawke nodded. "You got Michael?" he asked, his hand reaching for the cyclic.

"Of course," Rivers grinned, jumping to the ground. "One can never have too many angels on their side. Don't want to lose the one we have," and with that he was off, running easily across the rooftop for the door.

"Incoming," Marella cut in. "Two Hughes approaching. "They're about one minute out."

"Got it," Hawke replied curtly. Easing back on the cyclic, the helicopter rose easily into the sky clearing the rooftop.

Two Hughes appeared from below, rising like dark angels, raking the cockpit with cannon fire. The bullets sprayed off Airwolf's amour-plated hull skin with a disconcerting rattle.

"Aiming for the rotors, Hawke," Marella informed him.

Hovering, he swung the Lady to face them, her nose pointing downward as he gauged distance. Pulling back on the stick, Hawke pointed her straight towards them and hit the turbos, forcing her through the narrowing gap. The wind shear rocked the other helicopter, sending it scrambling to right itself.

Doggedly, they turned in pursuit. "Still there," Marella stated.

Disengage rotors and give me full power on the turbos on my mark.

"Hawke?" Marella questioned.

"Just do it, Marella," he ground out. "I can't fight, and that only leaves running."

Her head snatched up at his words. "But what about…"

"On my count," Hawke commanded. "5...4...3...2...1. Now!"

Rotors locked down and turbos fully engaged, Airwolf hurtled between her pursuers tossing them about in the sky. The two Hughes struggled to remain airborne as Airwolf made her escape.

Aboard the Lady, a full minute passed in silence, the only sound, Marella's fingers clicking over the keyboard. "We've lost them, Hawke," Marella commented.

"Return power to rotors," he replied, "and kick on the stealth. We're going to need the distance to find safety and get these guys."

"You got it," The dark-haired agent affirmed, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her thoughts miles away. Had Michael and the others made it out? She could only hope the pursuit of Airwolf had bought the others enough time to make their escape from Zebra Squad.


	11. Chapter 11

The jeep parked outside a riverfront dive Seb and roper waited, nursing yet another watered down beer and waiting for dark. Noticing the hollow-cheek waitress had disappeared yet again, Seb dumped the last of his beer in the pot of a rather wan looking plant.

Roper raised an eyebrow. "Anymore and that thing'll float away."

"Better it than me," Seb retorted. "Besides, I think you could consider it a kindness. It deserves to be put out of its misery in a place like this."

Roper swigged back another slug, the beer bitter in his mouth. "How much longer?" he asked.

Seb glanced at the neat, stainless steel chronograph on his wrist. "Forty-five minutes," he answered. "Might as well go, and get into place. Don't want to miss all the action."

"Heaven forbid," Roper drawled sardonically.

Plunking some bills on the table, the two men wandered out, their steps weaving slightly as if they'd had a little more than they should. Considering the knot in his stomach, Roper wondered if that wasn't the truth.

Slipping silently down the alleyway they skirted trash bags and an overflowing dumpster, to come to a high chain-length fence.

Nimbly Seb made his way up to it, swinging over the top and dropping down lightly on the other side. Following his lead, Roper clambered up his side, only to hang his foot in the top and land heavily on his butt on the concrete.

Seb shook his head. "You must get your grace from your old man. He lands the same way you do," he remarked, thinking of his last mission with Hawke when they'd gone after information concerning Nhi Huong and her husband, and Hawke's precipitous slide down the mountainside.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Roper retorted. "Now are you going to stand there and make smart comments all day, or help me up?"

Seb reached down a hand. "Hey, I only call it like I see it, buddy," he threw back.

Roper came to his feet glaring, and wiping wet grime off his jeans.

Seb motioned to him with a jerk. "Let's go. We're running out of time." He headed off into the shadows towards the pier at a ground eating sprint. Limping stiffly, Roper followed.

Together they slipped into the shadows to wait and watch at the front of the tanker. Dim lights twinkled above, providing only the barest of illumination.

"Go aboard?" Roper asked in a hushed whisper.

Seb frowned. "Yeah, I guess," he replied hesitantly. "We gotta be somewhere where we can do some good. This isn't it."

Quietly they crept aboard. Almost noiselessly they hid behind the crates on the deck, crouched. Both held their guns ready as they waited.

* * *

Airwolf settled back to ground at the lair. For a place they'd seen so little of the past several years, it sure seemed they were spending a lot of time there lately, String thought ruefully. Though if he were honest, he had to admit he was glad to have a hole to run to at the moment, those years with Dom hiding the Lady out were proving to be more valuable than he could have ever known.

The rotors cleared the chimney with only a few feet to spare, yet Hawke did it with almost mindless efficiency. There were some things that just didn't change, Cait thought, her blue-green gaze sliding to her husband.

"Cool!" Nicky chimed from the back. "Can we do it again, Dad?"

Amelia leaned over his shoulder, her eyes wide. "Who lives here, Daddy?" she asked.

Hawke looked up, his eyes meeting Caitlin's. "Nobody now. The Lady used to," the tone was quiet, memory-laden.

Caitlin gripped his hand silently, a myriad of thoughts conveyed in that simple touch. Marella smiled sadly, knowing the return to the lair had to be bittersweet for Hawke. A lot had changed in those years. Saint John had come home, but Dom was gone forever. If she missed the gruff old pilot, she could only imagine how Hawke must feel.

Still, she thought, it seemed right somehow, that this generation of Hawkelings found shelter under the Lady's wings here. She'd done a good job of protecting Hawke and Cait over the years, and still seemed to stand watch between her sharp fangs and Hawke's fierce determination. Michael had been right, all those years ago - Hawke didn't know the odds. Evidently neither did the Lady.

"Come on kids," she urged, rising stiffly and ushering them to the front. "Time to get out." Pushing and shoving, they tumbled over each other like poorly behaved puppies and she bit back a grin. They were tough, she had to admit.

Hawke slid down from the pilot's seat walking around the sleek black nose of the aircraft to Caitlin's door. Opening it, he reached up, pulling her down and gathering her close. "I'm fine, String," she whispered catching the scowl that furrowed his brow.

The eyes lightened, reminding her for a second of the clear blue skies overhead. A grin tugged at his lips as he looked at his beautiful, red-haired wife. "Humor me," he murmured tightening his grip on her.

He strode across the uneven ground, to gently place her by the oversize boulder where he and Saint John had sat not so many hours before. Tucking the blankets in, he started to straighten.

Cait reached up a slender hand, catching him around the neck. Tugging, she pulled him close planting a kiss on his lips.

Marella turned away. With them sometimes, it was as if nothing else existed. The children scrabbled over loose rocks, peering into shadows, and she thought of Michael. He'd done what he had to do, she told herself. She just hoped he hadn't paid too dear a price for it.

"He'll be okay," Hawke's deep voice whispered against her ear, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "You have to believe that, Marella."

She nodded tremulously. "I do," she whispered, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears. Turning away, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "Now what?"

Hawke looked at her frowning, but kept his peace. He glanced up, the sunlight overhead already fading since they'd arrived. It was time.

"It gets cold out here," he said, reaching into Airwolf's storage bins for blankets and rations. "You'll need these." He passed them out to the café au lait skinned woman, realizing she looked a little worn herself. "You'll be okay?" he asked, the blue eyes concerned.

"Yeah," she said rallying. "Just bring back Michael safe and sound, and get those bad guys."

"Done," Hawke promised grinning, glad to see glimmers of the Marella he knew surfacing.

Grabbing the blankets from him, she bustled over to where Caitlin sat.

Calling the kids over, Hawke hugged Amelia and Nicky goodbye. Amelia trotted over to the other women as soon as he released her. The boy lingered.

Hawke fingered his helmet awkwardly. "Watch out for mom and your sister," he said huskily.

Nicky nodded. "I will."

Shifting his weight, Hawke dropped his gaze. "I gotta go. Your Uncle Saint John and the others are counting on me." This time he turned towards the helicopter, his hand reaching for the handle.

The vented hydrolics hissed, Hawke snatched his hand back as if burned.

"_Did you miss me, sweetheart, huh?" the words echoed in his brain._

"_Dom, it's only a machine."_

"_Hey, she's got feelings. Ain't cha baby?" The hydrolics hissed again._

"Ah, temperatures dropping. It's just vented hydrolics," he whispered the words.

"_Sure, String. Sure," Dom's response echoed in his ears._

"He was right, you know," the words quietly spoken had Hawke spinning on his heel, his eyes wide.

"Who?" he whispered, his heart in his throat.

"Dom," the boy said calmly. "Love you," and with that he turned and walked away.

Stunned, Hawke stares after him. The helicopter hissed again in the cooling air as if to remind him of his duties, and he roused himself, reaching for the door handle warily.

Climbing in, his son's words echoing in his head, he switched the engines on.

How? He thought bemused. How would Nicky know of that conversation? He hadn't even been born when it's taken place. Dom was gone before he'd ever been born - taken by an explosion that had almost claimed his own life.

He shuddered. Maybe being back in the lair wasn't such a good idea after all, he thought, grasping the cyclic and edging upwards. Goodness knows his grasp on reality seemed to be getting more tenuous.

At the edge of the cave, Nicky watched, his eyes glittering in the deepening dusk - eyes so much like Hawke's, but with a feyness his generally lacked. "Watch over him, Angelwolf," he whispered. "I can't do this alone."


	12. Chapter 12

In stealth mode, Airwolf rippled over the water hugging the coastline and out of range of radar. The hour of the exchange edging closer.

Seb and Roper had long since slipped aboard.

Ulrich Holsen, his soul as dark as the clothes he wore trudged up the gangway with a briefcase of documents and two associates in tow. If he survived this night he'd be damned lucky, he thought grimly. Losing Sebastian Hawke had probably put the nail in his coffin so far as Freyja was concerned. He could only hope her buyers would be more forgiving. He wasn't foolish enough to think he could outrun them all.

Waiting in the shadows, he tapped his fingers impatiently on the ship's rail. Freyja would be here most anytime, and he still had no idea what excuse he'd give for not having Hawke.

The ship creaked. His ears sharpened at the sound. Probably just the waves, he thought, but he motioned his men to take a look around anyway.

Scuffling noises ensued and the agent spun, his gun in hand. To his surprise, his men returned bearing gifts. The first, struggling fiercely and snarling epithets looked a lot like Captain Hawke. Could it be, he thought his eyebrows rising gleefully, that he'd caught the inside man the committee had been looking for? Perhaps there was some political coin to be had here after all.

That glee was nothing though, compared to what rushed through his soul when he spotted the other man.

Hair mussed and glasses askew, his nose bloody, it was none other than Sebastian Hawke!

"Mr. Hawke," he greeted, grinning toothily, "you have no idea how glad I am to meet you."

"Makes one of us," Seb retorted angrily.

"Uh, uh, unh," Holsen admonished, waving a finger in his face. "None of that."

Infuriated, Seb broke free with one hand, hurling a solid punch in his direction. Holsen blocked and followed up with one of his own, catching him in the stomach. The guard immediately tightened his grip.

Heaving for air, Seb doubled over in pain. Roper intensified his struggles only to get a pistol butt up aside his head for his troubles.

In the darkness, Saint John started forward. "No!" Michael hissed, grabbing his arm. "We've got to play the hand we've been dealt. Don't do anything yet to jeopardize it."

Saint John subsided in frustration, Rivers beside him.

Footsteps echoed hollowly up the pier. Monique "Freyja" Debreau stepped into view, flanked by four stocky men. The tall, Nordic blonde hovered over them in her heels, unconcerned by their presence.

"Freyja?" Archangel whispered. "Thor's second in command?"

"Well, it explains a lot," Rivers commented from beside him.

Archangel smoothed his mustache. "True," he mused, but…it still seems a little hard to fathom her betrayal."

"It's called greed, Michael," Saint John remarked dryly.

The men stepped around her, at the head of the gangway, facing Holsen. The one in the middle spoke up. "Do you have the data?"

Holsen patted the briefcase he held.

"And Sebastian Hawke?" the man queried, his voice menacing.

Holsen motioned to one of his henchmen and he stepped over dragging Seb with him. The blood had oozed down and coagulated under his nose and across his chin.

"Good, good," the man intoned, indicating a switch should be made. He handed over the money, grabbing the data laden Airwolf file, skimming through it. Satisfied, he impatiently motioned for Seb to be handed over.

"We've got to do something, Michael!" Saint John hissed.

"We need Stringfellow," the spy reminded him. "We're more than a little outnumbered here. You won't do him any good getting yourself caught or killed."

Saint John sighed in vexation.

Transaction completed, the Iraqis headed down the gangway, data and Seb in tow. Freyja turned to Ulrich and his men. "Kill him," she said dismissively, gesturing to Roper. He struggled against the hands that gripped his arms like a vise.

Starting after the Iraqis, she turned, "Actually," she said, her eyes glittering coldly as she spoke to the two men, "kill them both!"

Shrugging, Ulrich's henchman pulled out a 9mm aiming it at his former boss.

"Wait!" he screamed, "we had a deal!" The gunshot echoed loudly in the shadowy darkness.

Never pausing, Freyja smirked. "You had a deal, I didn't." Her heels clicked down the metal ramp.

Struggling for all he was worth, Roper fought to get free. Saint John ran, thudding across the metal deck launching himself at the gunman drawing down on Roper, even as Ulrich's blood pooled beneath his feet.

Michael hoping for a clear shot, ran closer limping. The man Saint John struggled with flipped him to the ground with an Aikido move. Grabbing his gun, the man aimed at Saint John's prone form even as Michael fired. The first bullet slammed into his shoulder, the second his chest dropping him where he stood.

Roper slammed an elbow into his attacker's mid-section. Loosening his hold, he swept him to the floor with a deft leg sweep followed by the heel of his hand to the man's face. He fell forward without another sound.

"What took you so long?" Roper panted, glaring at Michael and reaching down to help Saint John up.

"Glad to see you, too," Michael retorted dryly.

"They've…got…Seb!" he panted hands on his knees, eyes widening as realization hit. "We've got to stop them!"

"Where's Mike?" Saint John asked, looking around and suddenly realizing the blonde-haired Air Force Major was nowhere to be found.

"Last time I saw him, was before the fighting started," Michael replied.

"Great, that means he's probably gone after the bad guys," Saint John grumbled. "Come on you two!" Running they all made their way down the gangplank. Saint John coming to a halt at the bottom, cocked his head listening.

He snatched the forgotten radio out of his pocket, shouting into it as he went. "String, this is Saint John, do you read?" Footsteps pounded down the dock. "String?"

"I read you, Saint John," String's voice came over the radio loud and clear, the Lady rising into view around the front end of the tanker.

"They've got Seb and the data," Saint John yelled. "I repeat they've got Seb and the data."

"I'm on it," String answered, the helicopter hovering overhead, nose down as she scanned for the others. "500 yards ahead," he directed, heading for a car. There's a limo waiting."

Without waiting for an answer, he swooped low over the pier, dropping down the ADF pods as he went. Targeting the waiting limo his thumb on the trigger, he slammed a Maverick home. The resulting explosion ripped apart the car, sending pieces and shrapnel flying, and dropping the group on the dock to the ground in surprise. The leader was quick to drag Seb to his feet, placing a gun against his head.

Scanning audio, String was quick to hear the words he shouted into the wind despite Airwolf's downdraft ripping at their clothes.

"Land the helicopter, Mr. Hawke," the man taunted. "Or I'll drop your brother right here where he stands."

Hesitating, String considered his options, though not for long when the scanner picked up the audible click of a safety being clicked off and he saw Seb flinch involuntarily. Kicking the speaker on, he answered, "Alright, you win." Hitting the button for the landing gear he hovered lower, swinging the helicopter to line up with the pier.

She settled to earth with a mechanical trilling sound, Stringfellow Hawke ducking as he stepped out to face his adversaries. Edging around the nose of the helicopter, he glared at the dark skinned man, his eyes dangerous.

"Let him go," Hawke demanded.

Moussa Faraj just looked at him and chuckled. "I think not, Mr. Hawke. I have the data, I have the computer expert. Now, I have the helicopter and you. What more could I want? Drop the gun on the dock," he ordered, his voice cold.

"No, String!" Seb yelled. The man holding him backhanded him, sending him reeling.

"Shut up," he snarled in heavily accented English.

Glaring, Hawke reached behind him carefully and dropped the .45 to the wood planking at his feet.

"Hands up," Faraj ordered. "Behind the head." One of his men sidled up behind Hawke, and shoved a gun to his ribs as they were crow-marched back to the helicopter. There was no doubt they meant business.

Reaching the helicopter, String reached slowly for the handle.

"Stop!" a voice yelled down the wharf, a warning shot slashing overhead and ricocheting off the helicopter's armor-plating. Spinning, Faraj's men turned to face this new threat. Simultaneously, String and Seb swung the cockpit doors open and into their captors.

Gaining the cockpit, Seb clambered over the seat towards the engineering console, starting the engines up.

String's door also slammed into the man holding him prisoner, but unlike Seb's, he didn't manage to knock him all the way to the ground. Grabbing Hawke's arm they grappled for control, slinging punches and slamming into the side of the helicopter.

Throwing a hard uppercut, Hawke finally managed to knock the man off balance. Shoving him aside, he gained the pilot's seat and thrust her into the air. Nose down, she faced her would be captors and Michael, Roper and Saint John wisely backed off.

Faraj realizing the odds were quickly swinging out of his favor, reached to grab a gun from the ground beside his feet.

"Unh, unh, unh," String taunted, narrowing his eyes at the man. His thumb hovered above the button for the chain guns Seb had brought up on his directive.

Faraj raised the gun and fired, letting off a round of bullets in the direction of Roper and Archangel. Saint John shoved them both to the ground, covering their bodies with his own.

String let loose a strafing volley of gunfire between the two groups, barely missing Faraj. The man thought better of his actions and dropped the gun he held back to the ground. Saint John and Michael moved in to capture him, shoving him and the others to the ground while Airwolf hovered protectively overhead.


	13. Chapter 13

It had seemed like a brilliant plan, Mike Rivers thought ruefully straining at the bonds that held him. Follow the girl, get the money, save the day. Simple, straightforward - unfortunately, it'd been anything but.

He'd thought he'd cornered Freyja, only to find out she'd cornered him instead, earning a rap on the head that had put him down for the count. The gal was good, he had to admit - he'd never seen it coming.

So, here he was, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the back of her trunk. And unless he missed his guess, if he didn't get out of here soon, his fate was going to be a lot like that turkey's - dead.

The ride got rougher, the car jouncing over uneven surface, much like they'd gone off road. Unless he missed his guess, they had. The question now became a matter of time. How long 'til Freyja stopped the car and blew his head off? For he had no doubt, she'd be more than happy to kill him.

* * *

"What do you mean Rivers is missing?" Hawke demanded. "He was supposed to be with you!"

"Well, supposed to be and is, are obviously two different things," Saint John snarled back.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Gentlemen, how 'bout we run a scan for him instead of fighting about this? Freyja is missing, too. And as long as she is loose, we have a major problem."

Grudgingly, Hawke acquiesced. Unfortunately, the scans picked up nothing out of the ordinary.

Cursing, Saint John thwacked his palm into the console. "Now what?" he questioned, blowing out a frustrated breath.

"We'll find him," String promised his brother, hoping he wasn't making a promise he couldn't keep. They swung over the wharf one last time, before heading back towards Red Star, where Michael had already gone.

The return trip towards home was made in silence, each member of the crew feeling Mike's absence poignantly. Saint John broke it at last.

"Drop me outside Van Nuys, String."

Hawke looked at him in surprise.

"You heard me," his brother said irritably. "Drop me."

Muttering under his breath, Hawke commented, "Don't tempt me." Praying for patience, he tried for a better answer. "What about debriefing with Michael?"

"Later," Saint John replied shortly.

"Fine," Hawke said, his own temper flaring hotly. He swung hard towards Van Nuys. Seb and Roper in the back, both grabbed the console to avoid landing in the floor. They exchanged a look of concern.

"Uh, String," Seb murmured wincing at the outburst he knew was sure to come. "What about the tower picking us up?"

"What about it?" he snarled.

"Well, we're not exactly going to blend in."

Realizing his point, String sighed. "Kick on the third button, second row from the top."

Looking at him strangely, Seb frowned in confusion. "But it's not marked…"

"That's 'cause it wasn't assigned when the panel was installed. Consider it room for upgrades to the system."

"Okay," Seb replied thoughtfully. "I can see that, but it's still not assigned."

"Yes, it is," Hawke retorted.

"But it's not marked," Seb said dubiously.

"It's assigned," Hawke retorted with exaggerated patience. "Just hit the button, Seb."

Seb looked at Roper. He shrugged. Frowning, Seb pushed the button.

To his surprise, the IFF scan came up, paging through aircraft 'til it came to a jet ranger. The radar clicked in as well.

Leaning forward, Seb stared in astonishment at the scene. Radar clearly showed the other aircraft around them, but it also showed Airwolf as a jet ranger heading for Santini Air. "H-hhow??" he stuttered.

Hawke tossed him a half-angry glance. "You're not the only one with computer knowledge around here." At that, he turned back to the instruments. Seb gaped at Roper.

"Shut your mouth, Seb," Roper teased, "you'll catch flies."

"But I thought he only flew her," he hissed. "He's always saying he's abysmal at typing and electronics."

"First thing you learn around here," Roper retorted, "is nothing's ever quite what it seems."

"Isn't that the truth," Seb muttered, looking in disbelief once again at the radar.

* * *

Dropping the others off at the hanger with a promise to meet them later at Red Star, Hawke headed out once more towards the Valley of the Gods. The hardest part he supposed was reigning in the helicopter's speed to look like a jet ranger. At this speed, she was positively mushy.

Still, he supposed it gave him time to think. Freyja's disappearance worried him - not just for Mike either. So long as she was out there, none of them were safe.

Beyond the radar of Van Nuys field he picked up speed, cruising easily at 300 knots. The pretense of deception was abruptly dropped, and Airwolf winged her way across the desolate landscape like the predator she was.

Three miles out, clearing the jagged edges of Three Sisters rock, the right engine suddenly stalled. Snatching his attention back to the matter at hand, Hawke snatched back hard on the stick, barely avoiding the formation. Shuddering, she fought him, pitching and yawing, the claxion stall imminent alarm sounding for the left engine.

"Come on baby," he pleaded. "Hang in there." Two handed he fought the stick as her nose dropped towards the rocks again and he struggled to get the landing gear down.

Shoving the lever for the landing gear down, he flared her nose just barely as she dropped to eath hard, slamming his head into the door frame. Seeing stars, he reached over and killed the power to the rotors, hearing them circling overhead.

Abruptly, the power went offline.

Thwacking his hand against the dash in frustration, he hurled his helmet off. Three miles, three lousy miles and he would've been to the lair. It might as well be three hundred.

Lights shone in the distance, and Hawke froze. What was somebody doing out here? The lights drew nearer and he remembered the faded tracks he'd seen flying out last time.

Reaching behind him, he drew the M1911A out of his belt. Probably nothing, but still…Stealthily, he crept out of the helicopter, taking a flashlight with him as he went. The lights passed on, slowly turning towards a dry river bed and vanished.

"So who are you, and what're you up to out here?" he whispered, mechanical problems forgotten. He shoved the gun back into his belt and broke into a ground eating lope towards where he'd last seen the lights.

* * *

The bouncing of the car stopped. Mike feeling more than a little bruised and nauseous from his ride, drew in a breath of stale air gratefully. Gravel scraped as footsteps circled the car. The trunk swung open, and a blinding light shone in.

"Good, you're awake." Freyja smiled coldly, waving the gun at him. "Get out."

Numbly, Mike struggled to sit up, to make his arms work, the circulation long since gone. They felt like lead weights.

"Oh honestly," she bit out in disgust. Grabbing his collar, she wrenched his upper body upright and his legs over the low lip of the trunk. "Now move!"

Mike rolled to his feet, nearly falling as he did so. Sharp tingles of pain worked their way up his legs as he struggled to stand. Grabbing hold of the car with bound hands, he just managed to avoid falling.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Freyja grinned secretively back at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She gestured towards the rocks with the gun. "Move."

Stumbling, he made his way over towards the boulder, circulation gradually coming back, bringing with it excruciating pain. The odds of him walking away from this one were slim to none, he figured wearily.

"That's far enough," she bit out. "Stop."

Slowly, Mike turned to face her. She paced in the bright light of the headlamps gun in hand.

"Now, I will give you a choice," she remarked, like she was offering him tea or coffee. "You can die quick and easy, Mr. Rivers or slow and painful. Personally, I'm hoping you'll choose slow - it makes it so much more interesting, don't you think?" She stepped forward. "Now, I want to know where Airwolf is out here, and I figure you know since you fly her."

* * *

Switching off the light, Hawke carefully made his way up the dry river bed, gun in hand. The night was moonless, great for avoiding being seen, not so hot for seeing where he was going.

Ahead though, the car headlamps stretched off into the desert. He could see the shadow figures up ahead, his ears straining to catch the words. The wind whipped up, blowing them away from him.

Gingerly, he picked his way closer, skirting his way around some larger rocks. The wind changed direction again, and this time it carried the words clearly to him.

"Tell me where Airwolf is, Mr. Rivers."

"I don't think so," came Mike's wiseass reply. "Maybe some other time."

A dull thud echoed as a body hit the ground, muffled sounds of a struggle.

"Mike?" he whispered in bewilderment. "What the heck is he doing out here?" Shaking his head, String decided not to question it. He'd been given the opportunity he'd wanted so desperately, he figured he better not waste it.

A low moan wavered in the suddenly still air.

Crouching Hawke moved closer.

The sound of tearing material rasped on his ears, followed by a pained cry.

"Forget it…you're …wasting my time and …yours," Rivers taunted.

"You'll talk," she panted, slamming the short knife blade home through his shoulder and twisting.

Mike screamed, and Hawke fought an overwhelming urge to go in guns blazing.

"You know what the Chinese call this," she taunted. "Death of a thousand knives. No cut on its own is enough to kill you, but overall it is lethal. Slow and incredibly painful, I wonder how many it will take with you."

Rivers muttered something, Hawke didn't catch it. Perhaps it was just as well, he thought from the yell that followed. And then he was there, the two figures clearly illuminated by the headlights - Mike on the ground facedown and Freyja atop him with the knife, bloody in her hand.

Glinting in the light it flashed downward and Hawke fired, two rounds slamming into her body. She crumpled with a soft cry.

Sliding the gun into his belt, Hawke didn't even notice as he scrambled over the rocky ground to Mike. Snagging the knife sticky with blood from the ground, he sliced through the cables that bound his hands and feet before rolling him over. "Sorry," he apologized when the younger man bit back a moan.

"What took you so long?" Rivers groaned, struggling to sit up.

"Easy," Hawke said, placing a hand behind him. Carefully, he eased him up.

Mike grimaced and flexed his hands trying to get feeling back. Hawke watched him with concern. "You alright?" his eyes panning over the other's bruised and bloody features.

"Nothing that won't mend," he rejoined tiredly.

String nodded.

"How 'bout a hand up?"

Bending over, Hawke hoisted the other man to his feet, waiting while he staggered up and finally throwing an arm around his waist as they stumbled back towards Airwolf.

The trip back took quite a bit longer than the trip in. Hawke had lost the flashlight somewhere in the darkness and never did find it again. Coupled with Mike's unsteady steps, and the uneven terrain they struggled.

Finally coming around the river bend, he spotted the helicopter, her dark skin glowing softly in the faint moonlight. The onboard computer giving her a faint green unearthly glow.

"Took a chance leaving the computers up," Rivers commented. "Freyja might have seen her. It's like a bloody nightlight leading you in."

Hawke looked at him in bewilderment. "I didn't leave the computers up. I told you, all the power went down."

"Not down now," Rivers retorted.

"No, no it's not," Hawke replied bemused. After a minute, he shrugged. "Just one of those weird computer glitches she gets occasionally, I guess."

"Darn handy for us," Mike muttered. "I'd hate to miss her in the dark. It's a big desert to wander around in."

"Amen to that," Hawke murmured. Shivering in the cool air, he helped Mike into the cockpit and pulled out the first aid kit. Tearing off a piece of tape with his teeth, he handed Mike the gauze and antiseptic. Setting it down, Rivers drug his shirt off over his head. He staunched the gash across his shoulder with the gauze and taped it in place with the adhesive String handed him.

"You'll have to get the other," he commented tiredly, strain evident in the lines of his face. "I can't reach it."

String nodded, gesturing for him to turn around, Taking the antiseptic he poured it over the deep knife wound and staunched the fresh flow of blood with another wad of gauze. Wincing in sympathy at Mike's harsh indrawn breath, he covered the wound, taping it all in place. "You could use a couple stitches there, Rivers," he stated grimly.

"You volunteering?" Mike grunted. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass." Carefully, he drug the shirt back over his head. "Last time I go chasing after some crazy dame. Let them chase me, next time."

Hawke grinned. Rivers must be feeling better, the warped sense of humor was back.

Slamming the co-pilot cockpit door he walked around to the other side, shivering in earnest now. The temperature was dropping fast now. The wind was also picking up, it was going to be blasted cold here, come morning. Climbing up, he closed the pilot cockpit door behind him.

For a moment, he thought of hoofing it the three miles to the lair, but then discarded the idea. It'd been too long since he'd walked the valley on foot and Mike was in no shape for a three mile hike anyway. Glumly, he figured they'd just have to suffer through.

"Well, you gonna give it a try?" Mike asked, looking at him expectantly when he settled into the cockpit seat.

Hawke gave him an irritated look. "I told you, the engine stalled out. She's not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you also said the power went offline," Mike retorted. "It's fine now. I don't know about you, but my preference wouldn't be freezing my can off out here 'til dawn. Try bypassing the main and starting it on the secondary."

Hawke shrugged, "Whatever you say. It's your funeral."

To his surprise, the familiar whine of the rotors kicked in immediately increasing with the low growl of the engines. "You win," he said perplexed. "I guess we're going home." Pulling back on the stick, Airwolf nosed into the air, slowly turning for the lair.

"How 'bout you give Sinj and Michael a call and let them know we'll be staying over?" String asked Mike. "I'm beat."

Nodding, Mike agreed.

* * *

Caitlin was dozing with Amelia in her arms, and Nicky pressed up against her side when she heard the low pitched howl in the distance. Airwolf, she thougth drowsily, trying to slip back into the fuzziness of sleep. Against her, Nicky tossed restlessly. His elbow nudged her in the side.

Fully awake now, she lay listening, ears straining, wishing for some news of Hawke. Had to be her imagination she thought. If Hawke had come back tonight, he'd already be here.

Worriedly, she pleated the rough wool edge of the blanket, missing him. The whine increased as she lay there to a ghostly drone, echoing down the chimney of the cave.

"Hawke," she whispered, sitting straight up. Marella stirred as well. Then reality kicked in - the ghostly droning noise was coming from above. Airwolf was coming down the chimney.

"Fool," she muttered in frustration. What was he thinking, flying her down in the darkness like that? Bad enough in the day, when you could see…

Squinting up in the darkness, she could just make out the pearl white underbelly, the rest of her lost in shadow. Praying for him to make it, knowing the narrowness of the canyon walls she waited, "I'm going to kill him," she muttered, "what is he thinking?"

Beside her, Marella looked at her in consternation before her attention went back to the helicopter overhead.

Nicky was muttering in his sleep now. Caitlin reached over, rubbing his back in a soothing circular motion. Trying to catch the words, to ignore the drama overhead, she leaned closer listening.

"Angelwolf," he mumbled. "Got to bring him back. Bring my dad back, angel."

"Shh-h," Caitlin soothed, stroking his hair gently. What was it about the men in her life and their restless dreams? She wondered.

He tossed again, pulling free of her hands. "Angel!" he cried, awakening. His eyes were fever bright in the darkness and Caitlin frowned, forgetting about String for a moment.

"Shh-h, Nicky," she soothed. "It's just a dream."

Focusing on the helicopter, he ignored her as if she wasn't there. "Angelwolf," he whispered, a world of emotion conveyed in that single breath. "You brought him back."

Confused, Marella and Caitlin exchanged glances even as the boy gained his feet and charged across the cave heedless of his bare feet. Marella shook her head and shrugged, as she herself rose and offered Caitlin a hand up.

Taking it she joined her, watching the reunion of father and son.

Hawke had slipped out of Airwolf now, still clad in the gray flight suit, an undeniable air of weariness about him. It showed in the set of his shoulders, and his step.

Rivers followed slower still, a bit stiffly.

Indifferent to it, Nicky launched himself into his father's arms. Bending, Hawke absorbed the blow, staggering back a little as he did. They stood there a long minute, Nicky's arms around Hawke and Hawke's arm around him, his cheek bent to the boy's soft reddish-brown hair.

"Okay, maybe I won't kill him," Caitlin murmured.

Marella grinned at her, walking forward to greet them.

Caitlin followed a step behind. Coming together, Hawke released Nicky placing a quick kiss of welcome on Marella's cheek before reaching out and pulling his wife into his arms.

"You look better," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear as he held her close.

"I am better," she promised, hugging him back.

"You're sure?" he asked, holding her away from him.

"Certain," she affirmed. "I have you back."

Cupping her cheek, he kissed her gently before he turned her in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Cait relaxing against him, cast a glance at Mike. "Hello, stranger," she greeted him warmly. "It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back," he answered giving her a worn grin.

Marella gave him an appraising glance, taking in the pallor and the new lines of pain around his mouth. "You okay, Mike?" she asked.

"Ran into a little trouble," Hawke answered, before he could get the words out. "Seems Freyja doesn't care much for Rivers here."

"I see," she replied, shooting Hawke a look. "How bad?"

Mike shrugged uncomfortably, "I'll live."

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the back up first aid kit Hawke had left with them earlier. Rifling around in it, she fished out some pain killers. Grabbing up the canteen from beside it, she returned, thrusting both at Mike.

"Here," she said impatiently.

He took the pills, swallowing them without comment.

"Take the shirt off, Rivers," the dark-haired beauty ordered.

He scowled, "I'm fine."

"Right," she retorted, crossing her arms. "Off."

Hawke grinned irrepressibly. "Wow, gotta love that bedside manner Marella."

Caitlin elbowed Hawke in the ribs. He winced, feeling the still tender spot where Nicky's bullet had recently grazed him. "Alright, alright," he acquiesced. "Maybe you'd better do as she says, Mike. We'll never get any peace around here if you don't."

Giving him a playful shove, Cait pushed him away. String pretended to stagger back and plopped down on the boulder behind him. Idly, he watched Marella and Mike for a minute as she tended his wounds.

Fondly his eyes lit on his youngest . "Amelia slept through it all, huh?" he asked.

"You know her," Cait replied.

"Yeah," he replied gruffly. "That child could sleep through a mortar attack." Looking around, his eyes sought his son. "Where's Nicky?"

Silently, Cait pointed. The boy sat nestled atop Airwolf's starboard wing, leaning into it asleep.

Hawke grinned, rising. "I'll go get him before he falls off."

Cait caught his arm, seeking his face with worried eyes. "Have you noticed anything a little odd about him lately?"

Hawke frowned, shaking his head. "No, why?"

"Just wondered," Cait replied a little absently. "He kept muttering about an Angelwolf in his sleep."

Hawke frowned. "I don't know, Cait. The last few weeks have been enough to give anybody bad dreams. Still…" he paused thoughtfully.

"What?" she prompted.

"You know, it reminds me in a weird way of Dom. He used to insist the Lady had feelings."

"That's crazy, Hawke," Cait whispered a little afraid.

"Yeah, I know," String replied, walking off to retrieve his son. "I know."


	14. Chapter 14

Dawn broke bright and cold over the Valley of the Gods. Streaks of pink and orange lighting the sky and mingling with the blue.

Shivering, Stringfellow Hawke rolled out of bed and wandered outside for a moment of privacy before waking the others. A night on the cold ground had done nothing for his aches and pains. He was getting too old for this, he thought grumpily, then he had to grin self-depreciatingly. Heck he'd been too old for this when Dom had been around and that was ten years ago. "No wonder your back hurt, Dom," he muttered, stretching sore muscles. "I guess you can lay that on my and Saint John's heads as well as the gray hairs."

Yawning, he trailed back inside pondering the possibility of a cup of coffee before facing Archangel.

Hunting down the percolator, he set some coffee on before turning on the communications relay. Punching the buttons for Red Star he leaned back in the pilot's chair and waited.

Just as the coffee was ready, the communications alarm sounded. "Figures," String muttered, only to go to pour the coffee and to spill it all over his hand. Yelping, he slung hot coffee off his hand, slamming the cup down to answer Michael's summons.

"Yeah," he snarled.

"Good morning to you too, Hawke," Michael said, stroking his mustache in amusement. "I take it I shouldn't ask how everyone slept?"

String glared at him. "Not really."

"O-kay," Michael drawled. "So should I take this to mean you'll be in later this morning to brief the committee?"

If Hawke's glare could've gotten any darker it would've. "Don't know why," he growled, "they were the ones who created the problem in the first place."

"Yes," Michael agreed, "and for that reason you might want to clear things up with them."

Hawke sighed, knowing he was right.

"We'll be there in about an hour, Michael." He paused, "Oh, and I think I solved your problem about Freyja."

"Oh?"

"Airwolf developed some mechanical problems last night and I had to set her down. The good news is I found Rivers and Freyja."

"And the bad?" Archangel asked, leaning forward intently.

"We'll need a clean-up crew out this way."

"How's Rivers?"

"Little worse for wear, but he'll live. Can't say the same for Freyja."

Michael nodded. "Send me the co-ordinates."

"Will do, when I fly over," Hawke replied. "Out."

* * *

Skimming low over the ground, Hawke made another pass over the dry river bed. He frowned in consternation.

"You're sure this is it?" Caitlin asked from the engineer's chair.

"I'm sure," Hawke tersely stated.

Mike from the co-pilot's seat agreed. "I'm pretty sure this is it, Cait. We had to walk from here to Airwolf and she was only a couple of miles from the lair."

"There's nothing here," Cait said, stating the obvious. Marella reached over her shoulder to pull up additional scans.

"She's right," she agreed. "Maybe you're mistaken about the location, it was pretty dark last night and…"

Hawke cut her off. "I'm not wrong Marella."

"Well, then where is she?"

He blew out a frustrated sigh. "Blazes if I know."

"Alright, let's go back to where you landed. The rotor wash should have left some sign."

Seconds later, Marella picked up the place on the video sensor. From there, Hawke followed the river bed towards the mesa. "Here," he said abruptly.

"Alright, run a scan," Marella told Cait. "Matrix, video, thermographic - all of it."

Punching in buttons Cait complied.

"Nothing."

Frowning, Marella increased the range once, and then again. This time video picked up the tire tracks.

"Wait!" Cait cried pointing. "What's that?"

Following her finger, Marella panned in squinting. After a minute she sighed, "It would appear I owe you an apology."

"Oh?" Hawke asked.

"Cait just found your knife." Feeding the image to the screen up front, she pointed it out.

"Okay, so where's Freyja?" Mike asked getting to the point.

"Gone."

"I shot her twice, Marella. I saw her fall," Hawke argued.

Marella sighed. "I believe you," she said. "I just don't think you killed her."

"Then how?" Hawke raged.

Mike sighed. "Probably a vest."

String cursed. "You mean I had her, and I let her get away?"

"No way to know, Hawke," Marella sighed. "The shot probably knocked her out, and she made her escape after she came to and you were gone. Taking care of Mike was the logical thing to do."

Gripping the stick, Hawke scowled. In irritation, he hit the buttons to the communications board. Almost instantly, Michael replied.

"Hawke, where are you? The committee is set to meet here in fifteen minutes."

"Bad news, Michael," Hawke stated, ignoring the comment. "Cancel the clean-up crew."

"Did you here me, Hawke?" Archangel fumed. The committee will be here any minute….what do you mean cancel the clean-up crew?"

Exactly that," Hawke replied succinctly. "Freyja's gone."

Archangel froze. "What do you mean gone?"

"Gone, vamoosed, disappeared," Rivers broke in. Hawke shot her twice, I saw him do it."

"Well?" Michael asked puzzled. He'd seen Hawke shoot in the past, if he said he hit her, then he'd hit her.

"We think a vest."

This time it was Michael who bit back a curse. Frowning, he leaned back in his chair his expression thoughtful. After a second he spoke. "Well, it can't be helped now. I'll see you at the meeting. Don't be late." He signed off.

* * *

Striding into the room, Michael and Marella led the way, followed by Hawke, Caitlin, Saint John and Mike Rivers. Seb and Roper followed. Splaying out they faced the room, the attention clearly centered on Archangel, Marella and Hawke.

"Thor," Michael greeted him warily, Marella beside him.

"Archangel," he returned evenly before turning to Marella. "Good to have you back, Marella."

Regally she inclined her head, saying nothing.

Immediately back to business, Thor turned to the matter at hand, his eyes icy. "Mr. Hawke, I understand you wish to update the committee on the status of the stolen data and the Airwolf project?"

String faced him down, his eyes narrowed dangerously and a muscle ticking in his jaw. "That I do. Sir."

* * *

Back in Michael's office at Red Star, the Airwolf crew whooped it up, the celebration in full swing. "Boy, did you see old Thor's face when String told him his second in command had stolen it right from under their noses?!" Mike chortled.

"Or better yet, when he had to apologize to Seb?" Roper laughed. "Who knew crow tasted so bad?"

"Maybe his piece was a little burnt," Seb said mockingly.

"It wasn't the only thing burnt there," Saint John rejoined.

Hawke gave a grin.

Marella handing out the last of the drinks paused, perched on Michael's desk. "I propose a toast," she said.

"Hear, hear," the others agreed.

"Let's hear your toast, Marella," Saint John called.

"To beating the committee at their own game," she proposed, "and to tempting fate."

The clink of glasses rang out in the room. "To tempting fate," they all exclaimed triumphantly, as they raised their glasses.

"And to friends," Hawke added, raising his a second time, looking around.

"To friends."


End file.
